Mésentente cordiale (English Version)
by Hetep-Heres
Summary: NWZ, post-show. Felipe gets into trouble. Later, Zorro/Diego meets a señorita who doesn't think much of Zorro-the-Outlaw but is rather enthusiastic about Diego de la Vega's scientific and curricular achievements. Alejandro sees this as a last resort to finally marry off his son, but Diego is a bit biased about her and takes a slightly dim view on her. What about Victoria?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Sergeant Jaime Mendoza was a man who loved tranquillity. Strange idea in this case, you say, to join the army. But beyond the desire to serve his king and to ensure the safety of his fellow citizens, all things being _a priori_ good enough reasons to opt for this career, Jaime Mendoza had somehow found in the army the means to get to the rather uncomplicated life he was aspiring to: the army was, in a sense, a reassuring framework whose organisation spared him complications by often simplifying the soldier's life. Indeed, this barrack life was essentially made of instructions to follow and orders to obey without too much further thinking.

Yes, for a soldier under the command of alcaldes such as Ignacio de Soto – or Luis Ramone before him – it was better not to think too hard, on pain of finding themselves facing some ugly dilemmas for a man whose heart was as kindly and benevolent as was Jaime Mendoza's.

Yes, the thorn in our good sergeant's flesh was the accession to power, several years ago, of the two men having successively been appointed to this post for the pueblo de Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Ángeles del Río de Porciúncula. Before that, he had always felt that in fulfilling his duty he was defending and serving the people – this very people he belonged to. Now... Now making his duty agree with his conscience had become more complicated. As was tuning the obedience of the good soldier and the precepts of the good Christian, the decency of the human being he wanted to be and remain. _Everything_ had become more complicated in the recent years.

And Jaime Mendoza did not like complications.

That's where his thoughts had wandered while he was idly patrolling the countryside – or rather the _desert_ – surrounding the pueblo with a troop of lancers under his command, in the highly unlikely event that a bandit would not have heard them approach and would have let himself be caught in the act, when he was interrupted in his bitter thoughts by a cry.

Or more precisely cries. But not screams, no. Rather plaintive whimpers.

A _woman's_ whimpers.

Halfway between groans and moans of pain.

Mendoza and several of his soldiers heard and turned their heads all around to try and determine where these sounds came from.

Then suddenly the cries became more pleading, more imploring, more piercing; more imperative too:

"NO! No, don't do that!"

This time the soldiers all turned the head in the same direction.

"NO, stop! You mustn't... NO, let go of that!" the voice shouted again.

Over there, on their left, they spotted a horse that seemed slightly familiar to Mendoza without him being able to immediately remember who owned it. A little further another saddled horse trotted with a slight limp, shaking his head from time to time, circling around a small heap of rocks and bushes, a bit aside from the road.

Then the voice went on with greater intensity:

"What are you doing? NO, don't touch me, get back! Let go of me! Let me…"

Mendoza motioned to his patrol to move towards the source of these pleas that seemed to precisely come from behind the rocks, and he put his horse into a canter.

"NO! No, please don't do that! I beg you! Unhand me! Don't touch me! Don't touch me! N– AAAAAAAAAH!"

The woman's last scream tore the relative quietude of the desert over many hundred feet around, making several broods of birds fly off and the two horses rear while Mendoza and his men finally arrived on site bypassing rocks and shrubs, weapons drawn to help the unfortunate victim.

The sight displayed then and there before his eyes first left the sergeant voiceless for one or two seconds, then he flew off the handle to the point that he pointed his sword straight ahead, shaking with anger.

On the ground and just before his horse, a woman was lying flat on her back, now unconscious, with a fresh reddening bruise on her temple, her cheek scratched and slightly bleeding. A man was half lain down over her, his back to Mendoza, and with his bended left arm he was pinning her shoulders to the ground while his right hand was holding her left arm down. Roughly a cubit away from there lay a knife that the man had probably dropped in order to get a better hold on his victim. Lowering his eyes a bit, the sergeant saw that the woman's skirts and petticoats were rolled up to the top of the right knee, and even up to mid-thigh. A sizable trickle of blood was running down the inner side of her knee.

Sickened by so much cowardice and barbarism, Mendoza pointed the tip of his sabre to the man's back and prodded his spine while barking his orders at him:

"Unhand her at once! Stand up slowly, no sudden move or I swear I skewer you like a beef's rump steak!"

But feeling the tip of the sabre between his shoulder blades made the other man turn his head to look behind, and as Mendoza recognised him the sergeant realised that all his refined eloquence toward the attacker was totally lost on him; at the same time he received his second shock within a few seconds. But it was even more astounding, confusing, appalling and bewildering than the first one. Even more _unsettling_, in a word.

The weapon still pointed at the young man, Mendoza opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish out of water, in utter disbelief, but as no sound came out, he remained as silent as his vis-à-vis.

_The de la Vegas' deaf-mute?_

Then slowly the reality of the scene the sergeant was witnessing seemed to sink in and he finally recognised the familiar horse as the mount the young man usually used; then slowly, almost painfully, in sheer disbelief and still in shock, Mendoza managed to utter a single word:

"F-F-... Felipe?!"

_That_ was quite a complication. And Jaime Mendoza didn't like complications.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The ride back to the pueblo was difficult and unpleasant. Personally, Sergeant Mendoza was in no hurry to get there, but the woman had not regained consciousness and that was sufficiently worrying in itself to make them hurry up a bit and take her to the village's only doctor.

She had therefore been hoisted up onto Corporal Sepulveda's horse, and he was holding her in a sitting position, her back propped against his torso, his right arm around her and his left hand holding the reins while he brought his mount to a trot. She was as limp as rag doll, but much heavier, and more cumbersome too; however, looking at it fast enough, one could have almost thought of them as a loving couple taking a romantic horse ride: _her_, pressed against his chest, like revelling in his arms; _him_, embracing her gently, his arm wrapped around her, his hand on her stomach... Well, except that when he was holding a woman in his arms, the corporal thought, he greatly preferred that she was conscious and aware – and _consenting_, he added inwardly, remembering what had led to the present situation.

Felipe had tried to defend himself, to tell God knows what with a great many gestures, but no one understood what he was trying to say, then why bother? Anyway, they had all witnessed the same scene, and there was little ambiguity about it. What on earth could he have said in his defence? They had therefore bound his wrists and, back on his horse, he now obediently left the soldiers take him back to the pueblo, under heavy guard, head bowed low.

Jaime Mendoza had rarely felt so lost. Disappointed, too. Hmm yes, the facts, yet so simple and obvious to the soldier, led to a complicated situation for the human being, for the friend he also was. Because yes, despite the obvious difference in social rank, wealth and education, despite the abyssal gap between them, Mendoza like to think of Don Diego de la Vega more or less as a friend. And what would greatly complicate things was that, not only the young Felipe had long been Don Diego's protégé, but what's more, he now was about to become his son. Diego de la Vega had undertaken official steps and administrative procedures to formally and legally adopt him.

This ugly affair was going to devastate poor Don Diego, who really didn't need that just after recently discovering he had had a hidden twin brother who turned out badly, a twin brother he had lost and buried even before he had time to try to help him redeem...

And now _this?_ It was going to break Don Diego's heart…

But this whole adoption business could also bring Mendoza other problems, if Don Diego persevered in his project despite the facts: indeed, it was no longer a mere servant or a simple peon the sergeant had just arrest and was going to put in jail, but a future caballero, the heir to the richest family in Los Angeles, the most influential too, and the most respected even beyond the boundaries of the pueblo. The de la Vegas had connections throughout California, and perhaps even in Spain!

It certainly did not stop the last two alcaldes to put a de la Vega in jail for a night or two before, but – at least since Zorro had been keeping a close eye to their actions – for nothing as serious as what was currently concerning Mendoza; and certainly nothing that risked to mean more than a day or two of relative discomfort before being released.

But _this_ was quite another matter, and arresting a caballero – a soon-to-be de la Vega! - for aggravating assault on an isolated an unarmed woman had nothing to do with simply putting Don Diego a few hours in a cell for writing an article that displeased the alcalde. This time, if Don Alejandro used his connections it could mean the end of the sergeant's career, because it was much easier to have a mere sergeant's head on a platter than an alcalde's – an alcalde appointed to his post by the king himself! It was not certain that Don Alejandro would come to that because after all he was an honest man, but on the other hand he was also a proud caballero who felt his duty was to defend the name of de la Vegas... So Mendoza didn't know exactly what to think of that. Most likely that the old man would probably try to persuade his son to give up on this adoption...

Felipe... of this either, the sergeant didn't know what to think... After all, he did not know the young man that well, and certainly much less than he had thought until then; however, he would never have thought... He'd never have expected that of him! He still couldn't believe it, incidentally. Yet he had seen it with his own eyes! The knife, the injured woman, her screams, her pleas, her skirts... it was as clear as daylight, and yet so unbelievable!

Complicated stuff. A very simple case altogether, yet a very complicated situation. One thing was howbeit certain: he had to refer this matter to the alcalde as soon as possible. And after all, he thought without really admitting his cowardice, decisions in Los Angeles fell to de Soto. Mendoza had no choice but to let the alcalde take over this ugly matter... He was only a soldier, a mere sergeant. He had to obey orders and comply with the law, even when he disliked, hadn't he?

Finally back to the pueblo, Mendoza ordered Sepulveda to take the still unconscious victim to the doctor, while the rest of the soldiers went back to the garrison house. The fact that the woman had still not regained consciousness during the ride was no good sign about her condition. Had the boy hit that hard?

Even before telling Soto, the sergeant had yet to put the young man in a cell. Two soldiers brought him down from his horse not too gently and, as he still had his hands tied in front of him, Felipe fell heavily on the ground. Once back on his feet he tried a few arm gestures again to try and tell something, but as the rope was hampering his movements he gave up and finally let them lock him up.

Mendoza couldn't dispel the feeling of unease and awkwardness that seized him since he identified the young deaf-mute as the poor woman's attacker. Besides, images of the scene he discovered behind the rocks came back to his mind eye, and disgust resurfaced.

"Give me your hands," he told his prisoner in a tone that he wished as neutral as possible.

Felipe was looking down and therefore could not know that the sergeant had spoken to him. Seeing this, Mendoza moved his arm forward through the bars and put his hand under the young man's chin to make him slowly raise his head.

"Your hands!" the sergeant repeated, making a gesture with his own to make him understand.

Felipe then lifted his tied wrists forward through the bars and Mendoza, armed with the knife found near the victim, cut the rope that had kept the youngster's hands bound until then.

As soon as his hands were free Felipe embarked on a series of panicked large gestures that were as fast as useless, because Mendoza quickly told him:

"Don't bother, I don't understand! Don't waste your time and brea–" Mendoza stopped himself, wincing while realising what he had been about to say. "Whatever. Felipe, stop! I don't understand a thing!"

The boy lowered his arms with a despondent look on his face, his shoulders slightly slumped. Suddenly he straightened up, grabbed the sergeant's arm through the bars and, an imploring look in the eyes, he mimicked the act of writing something with his right hand on the palm of his left hand.

"Writing?"

Looking around him, Mendoza found an old edition of the _Guardian_ lying on a small desk and handed it to his prisoner, along with a lead pencil found in a drawer.

Felipe tore a piece of paper in the margin of the journal, hastily scribbled something on it and handed it back to the sergeant.

After taking a quick peek at it Mendoza asked:

"Are you sure you're in such a hurry to have him know what you've done?"

But Felipe insisted, pointing to the piece of paper in a resolute manner.

"As you wish..." Mendoza said in a resigned tone of voice before dropping the strip of paper on the desk and getting out.

Clenching his fingers around the bars of his cell tight enough to make his knuckles whiten without even realizing it, Felipe remained a long time staring at the piece of yellowed paper that bore all his hopes. On it, a single word:

_Diego_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_"__There is a singular line running through History, always renewing itself, that of fanatics for the general Order. Devoted to an abstract and absolute idol, to them human lives are of little worth if their mere existence threatens the dogma of Institutions; and it's as if they have forgotten that the community they are serving is made of human beings"  
(Maurice Druon – "The Accursed Kings", Vol. 1: "The Iron King", part II, chapter 9)_

_Of course this quote doesn't completely stick to the character nor to this chapter, but I found it appropriate enough on some points to use it as a header here…_

* * *

Ignacio de Soto was puzzled. Annoyed, too.

And slightly miffed.

Don Diego's young deaf mute… He would never have thought... He would never have expected it of him.

That being said, he had never really paid much attention to the boy, de Soto admitted. A boy who had never gotten himself talked about... to whom no one ever paid any attention... Well, he had to admit that as the boy was deaf and didn't speak, his presence could be easily forgotten and there was no real reason to pay any attention to him.

It was perhaps where lay the key to this puzzle: a young man to whom no one had ever paid the slightest attention – except Don Diego – suddenly became the heir of the most important, renowned and prominent family around. That was enough to go to his head. And give him a sudden sense of impunity.

Back there in Spain when he was young, de Soto had seen many of them, these young triflers who belonged to the gilded youth of Madrid, these rich kids and spoiled brats whose surname, ancestral lineage or family's wealth was in their eyes a blank cheque for all kinds of abuse and misconduct, ranging from simply lack of civility for most of them to violation of law for some others. And sometimes even crime.

But in their case, this sense had been instilled in them from the cradle, they had suckled it from their nurse's breast and it had been nurtured throughout childhood, so much that they thought it only natural that they were owed everything, be it positions, honors, respect... or the first servant, peasant girl or tavern wench who happened to come by.

But for this young man, things had been very different. So what was that? Was this the expression of a long repressed behavior of many years? Had he spent ten years managing to conceal his true nature among this small community that was the pueblo de Los Àngeles? Come on, such a mock harmlessness, such a charade was impossible to keep going for so long. Especially from a child. No one was _that_ able to keep up years and years of pretense without giving themselves away. And certainly NOT before Ignacio de Soto's own eyes, for God's sake!

Well, granted, at this very thought a highly unpleasant word made his way to his mind, an unpleasant name beginning with a Z that was impudently buzzing in his ear, but de Soto tried his best to ignore it. Apart from this continual thorn in his side, no other secret could remain hidden for long in such a small community, and especially not by a mere teenager, a kid. A kid who had only his body to express himself – supposing that these pitiful gestures and gesticulations could be called "expressing oneself". The alcalde was convinced that, more often than not, Don Diego was only _pretending_ to understand him – either to make himself look important or not to upset the boy, or even not to frankly admit he didn't understand anything more than the others – and that he invented at least three-quarters of what the kid was supposed to have "told" him.

But now said _kid_ wasn't one anymore, as shown by the morning's very serious incident, and he was also no longer the mere invisible and anonymous servant he had been so far either. But what had gotten into him? Did his future status as "Don" Felipe suddenly go to his head? Probably. After all, for someone coming from such a low background, the idea of becoming a de la Vega, to one day inherit of the most profitable land around there as well as a considerable wealth, bearing one of the most prestigious and respected names of California could transform a dull and simple young man into a despicable spoiled brat and cocky rooster.

After all, what had the boy done to deserve so much godsends and blessings? What more had he done than all those insufferable coxcombs in Madrid who only ever had the trouble to be born? Not much, in truth. Just becoming Diego de la Vega's pet, his favourite, his protégé; Don Diego… another spoilt rich idler who didn't know what to do with his time and had never had to do anything in his life to deserve the high position he had in society.

Ignacio de Soto was sickened by this system. Someone should one day put things right, so that the son of simple peasants like himself could access the exact same opportunities as children of caballeros such as Diego, without having to resort to cheating for that. So that only merit, brains and hard work determine the destiny of a man, and the honors he received.

De Soto knew that this wouldn't happen any time in the near future, but he also knew that blindly yielding to the good old system would not help succeed in changing things. So if he had to incur a few frowns from some bigwig in Monterey by making an example of young Felipe de la Vega, then so be it. He would just have to skillfully manoeuvre with the governor, why not by inventing some unlikely collusion between the young man and the outlaw Zorro…

Though on second thought, no. It was better if Zorro didn't come and put his two centavos in this matter, he would be able to do ruin everything and the kid might get away with what he did. And it was precisely this sense of impunity that made Ignacio sick with indignation. Especially after what the boy had done or tried to do.

De Soto was a pragmatist. No pain, no gain, and he had known since very early in his life that you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs. He had learned this the hard way and often at his own expense. But despite years and years of compromise with his conscience that he had almost managed to silence it in order to rise to the rank he was currently occupying, there were still two or three things towards which he felt a boundless revulsion. Or was he beginning to soften as the years passed? After all, he remembered he had felt the need to seek the padre's spiritual assistance after he shot Gilberto Risendo, killing him instantly, to save Diego de la Vega – of all people! how ironic, come to think of it!

So yes, the facts Mendoza had reported to him concerning the morning's incident were of the kind that deeply sickened him, and Heaven forbid it would be said that their perpetrator would get away unpunished, however son and grand-son of caballero as he might be, and even though he was about to become a de la Vega. It would not be said that Ignacio de Soto softened with age. And if he had to make an example, then he would, damn it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Diego de la Vega stormed into the barracks where the garrison's cells were. Visibly alarmed, he rushed up to the one his soon-to-be son had been moping in for several hours, stopped in his tracks only by the bars that separated them.

"Felipe! Felipe, how are you? You're not hurt, are you? Are you treated well?"

Sergeant Mendoza, who had entered after Diego, spoke up to defend his men:

"Of course he's treated well, Don Diego! Who do you think we are?"

But neither Diego nor Felipe paid him any attention. Diego had slipped both hands through the bars and wrapped the young man's ones in his large palms, not uttering a word, emotion painted all over his face.

Likewise, the young prisoner's eyes had lit up with a new hope as well as a boundless trust and confidence when Don Diego entered. Trust and hope that the sergeant had trouble understanding: admittedly, Don Diego was a good man, a friend he truly liked and esteemed, but well, let's face it: if Mendoza had serious trouble and found himself in danger, Don Diego was certainly not the first person he would think to call to for help to get out of a thorny situation... and certainly not the one with whom all his hopes would lie!

Diego then spoke again:

"Please forgive me for not coming sooner, Felipe, but I wasn't home when the sergeant stopped by. I had gone out."

Felipe nodded; he grasped perfectly well what this simple _'I had gone out'_ meant and, just as Diego had long since learned to understand Felipe's signed language, the latter had also learned to read between Diego's lines – or rather words – and to take his hints when he couldn't speak clearly in the presence of a third party. The two men sometimes understood each other without even having to talk now. They knew how each other's mind worked.

Then everything suddenly changed again. Don Diego released Felipe's hands and let out a flurry of questions:

"What happened, Felipe? Tell me! Tell me what really happened!"

"I told you what happened,Don Diego…" Mendoza intervened.

"If you don't mind, Sergeant," Don Diego interrupted rather dryly, "I'm asking _Felipe_. It's _his_ version I want to hear."

"_Hear_, Don Diego?"

But obviously enough, Diego didn't feel like nitpicking right now and he threw an almost dirty look at the poor sergeant. He never liked when people emphasised the young man's disability in such a way and in his presence, and Mendoza also realised it was not the best time to embark on lexical quibbles. Don Diego was in no mood for a friendly conversation with him.

After his unusual fit of temper, Diego set all his attention back on Felipe.

"Tell me," he repeated. "What happened?"

Felipe began a series of gestures. First he mimed horse riding.

"Where?" Diego asked.

Felipe made another gesture.

"On the Camino Real?... North?"

The young man nodded. Mendoza thought it more prudent not to point out aloud that he had already told so to Don Diego; he kept his thoughts to himself.

As for Diego, he was beginning to put together the pieces of puzzle he had gathered from Mendoza with those Felipe was now giving him:

"A horse rider?"

Felipe nodded again but added something: with a wave of his hands he mimed long hair and with another more suggestive gesture he drew a resolutely curvy shape.

"The rider was a woman?... The horse… reared up?... And they fell to the ground?

Felipe then raised his right hand to his left shoulder and pretended to twist it.

"She fell on her shoulder? Did it break?"

Felipe shook his head.

"Sprained, then? No? Dislocated, out of joint?"

A nod from Felipe.

Diego winced, sympathising with the poor woman. Dislocation was never a pleasant matter, and often a very painful one. Felipe went on: he put a hand on Diego's shoulder and the other on his elbow, and then pretended to make a sharp move. Diego winced again; Felipe nodded and then raised his hands a bit, arms spread in a gesture of helplessness. Diego simply told him:

"I know, but you did the right thing."

Felipe indicated that right after this the victim fainted. Seeming to question Diego, he motioned to the outside, and made the sign for 'woman'.

"I don't know, Felipe," Diego said before turning to Mendoza. "How is she, Sergeant? Has she finally regained consciousness?"

"I don't know, Don Diego. I went to see the alcalde, then I rode to your hacienda but you weren't there, and neither was Don Alejandro, so I left the message telling you to come to the garrison as soon as possible, then I rode back here and I had to write the report, then it was lunch time and then you arrived. I hadn't time to check on her, and I didn't see Corporal Sepulveda, but he should know about the señorita: he took her to the doctor."

Felipe seemed to suddenly remember something: putting his left wrist above the other, his right hand flat, and curving two fingers of the left one, he made a sign that Diego didn't seem to identify right away. Then with his right index finger he sharply jabbed his left forearm and finally ended his sentence by indicating his thigh.

"A sting?" Diego asked.

A nod from the young man.

"You've been bitten by a snake?" Don Diego then asked with a bit of panic.

Waving 'no' with his hands in front of him, Felipe shook his head and made again the curvy sign for 'woman'.

"The rider?"

Another nod.

"She's been bitten by a snake?"

_'__No'_. Felipe then made the first sign again, insisting on his bent fingers.

"A scorpion?"

_'__Here, you've got it!'_, Felipe seemed to tell him. He then mimed the act of pulling a knife from his sash and cutting through the air in front of him. Diego then turned to Mendoza.

"Well, now you can see Sergeant, _this_ is the reason why Felipe's knife lay next to the woman, with her blood on its blade!"

But even though Mendoza wholeheartedly wished to believe this version, he couldn't manage to let it convince him.

"But Don Diego, you weren't there... We've all heard the señorita scream and beg him to leave her, and…and to let go of her, and… and not to... not to..."

He didn't want to end this sentence, but he hoped that Don Diego would grasp the idea he was trying to convey without it needing to be spelled. The sergeant went on:

"I can understand that you believe him, Don Diego, I really do but... but all we have is his word... well, so to speak... and well... we all were there, we heard and saw–"

"Basically, you're telling me that it's Felipe's word against yours, Mendoza, aren't you?"

"You weren't there, Don Diego…" Mendoza objected half-heartedly. The sergeant wasn't feeling really comfortable with himself. He would have greatly preferred to be anywhere but there.

As if driven by an unusual energy, Diego suddenly set off and went to the door in a firm step, stating:

"Well, someone else was there too, wasn't she? And her version will help you make up your mind, since Felipe's word means nothing to you anymore!"

Making another abrupt half-turn, Don Diego strode back to the cell and, slipping his arms through the bars, right up against the railings, he hugged the young man tight and soothingly murmured:

"Don't worry Felipe, I'll get you out of it. Don't worry, I'm taking care of it..."

Mendoza thought that circumstances had a strange effect on Don Diego, to the point of making him forget that the boy was deaf and that it was therefore no use to talk to him if your lips were not in his field of vision!

Then just as suddenly, Don Diego stormed out of the room in three quick strides and, through the window, the sergeant saw him cross the plaza at a brisk pace.

Truly, this very day Jaime Mendoza was going from one surprise to another. And this time it was Diego de la Vega who was disconcerting: the sergeant had expected to see him devastated, anxious, perhaps even distraught and lost, while hearing the disturbing news. Despondent, anyway. Instead of which, Diego had dashed to the jails, full of spirit, ardour and energy, demanding to be led to Felipe right away. Mendoza had expected to be facing a broken-down, devastated man in the doldrums, instead of what he found himself facing a lion ready to fight tooth and nail for his cub.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"And she has still not regained consciousness in all this time?" Don Diego wondered.

"_Consciousness_, yes she has," the doctor replied. "Episodically. _Lucidity_... that's a different matter altogether".

"I beg your pardon?" Diego asked.

"She wakes up, mumbles some unintelligible words or simply moans, sometimes opens her eyes without really looking around her, then she falls back into unconsciousness. It comes and goes, but she developed a fever and when she wakes up for a few minutes she's delirious, she has still not remained lucid long enough for me to ask her about her condition. But there's a nasty bruise just above her temple that doesn't look good to me: she received a blow to the head."

Still there in a corner of the room, Corporal Sepulveda was watching the exchange between them, not taking part in it. For lack of clear orders from the sergeant on what he was to do once he had brought the victim to the doctor, he had remained at her side hoping to be able to ask her about her identity and receive her testimony. But now he was only worried she would never awaken for good and was fretting a bit over her. He felt somewhat responsible for her and for what would become of her: after all, the sergeant had somehow entrusted him with her...

Of course the doctor had no bed in his humble office, therefore the woman had been laid on a simple wooden banquette carpeted with a thick Indian blanket. She had been lying there for a few hours now and even this discomfort had not awakened her. Right now she seemed to be deeply asleep, her face reddened and glistening, beads of sweat beginning to form on her forehead.

Meanwhile, Don Diego continued to talk with the doctor:

"She has a scorpion sting somewhere, probably on her thigh," Diego pointed out. "This could explain the fever and delirium. She also dislocated her shoulder this morning, but the head of her humerus has been immediately put back in its socket."

"Where did you hear... Whatever," decided Dr. Hernandez. "First and foremost she has a long gash in her right thigh, a clean cut made by a sword or a dagger, by some kind of sharp blade anyway."

"It was done in order to remove the scorpion's venom," Diego provided.

"Scorpion or not, in any case there's now the beginning of an infection around there; this could as well explain the fever. I had also noticed her shoulder, although I will have to take a closer look to see if it can actually be a reset dislocation. But I also found this."

He then rolled the right sleeve of his patient up above the elbow to show them his discovery: four long red-turning-blue bruises were running across her arm. Dr. Hernandez then lifted her elbow a little and Diego could spot a fifth shorter yet similar hematoma on the inside of her arm.

A hand, he thought. A hand had gripped this arm to the point of bruising its flesh. In order to pin it.

"And this," the doctor added.

Slowly, gently, respectfully, he hicked the woman's skirt up to the top of her right leg, and above a swollen and reddened gash that stretched over two or three inches, similar bluish marks were spread over the white skin of her thigh.

A hand. A hand had forced and maintained this leg, this thigh. And this arm.

Felipe's hands.

Suddenly overcome with the unpleasant indecency of the sight displayed before their eyes while the woman was still unconscious, Diego pulled her skirts back down, looking away. Or was it rather the indecency of these marks and of the gesture they suggested that made him feel suddenly so uncomfortable?

The doctor went on:

"I'm sorry Don Diego, but these marks are quite consistent with the account the Corporal here gave me of the events."

Sepulveda wished the earth would swallow him up, and despite himself he resented Dr. Hernandez a tiny bit for attracting Don Diego's attention on his presence.

"Yes Don Diego," the poor soldier said faintly. "Err... I'm sorry but... but it's the truth..."

"They are also consistent with Felipe's account," Diego replied. "He told me he reset her shoulder, and he incised the leg near the sting to drain the venom out."

Dr. Hernandez lit an oil lamp, got it closer to his patient, lifted her skirts again and leaned over to take a closer look at her thigh.

"Hmm... hmm yes," he said, making a sceptical face, "this, here, it could be a scorpion sting. Hard to say, because the cut runs through it, but it might look like it... possibly..."

"And the fever, doctor?" Diego insisted. "And the loss of consciousness, and delirium? All this could be the consequences of the effect of the venom!"

"As well as of the infection, which is established," the doctor replied. "In addition, the loss of consciousness and delirium could also be the result of the blow to the head. I'm sorry Don Diego, he added with a sigh, but my role here is not to separate fact from fiction in an inquiry, nor to determine culpabilities. My role here is to identify what she suffers from and try to treat it. As for the rest... I remind you that I am a doctor, I took an oath and I don't have the right to take sides."

"Speaking of what she suffers from, Doctor," Sepulveda suddenly intervened, "how is she? What can we do for her? Is it serious?"

Hernandez sighed and made a face between doubt and ignorance.

"On this matter... I cleaned the wound with salt water and alcohol, stopped the bleeding, did the same with scratches on her face, and gave her extract of willow bark and of meadowsweet in small quantities when she awoke, to fight her fever. I also made a poultice of it for her wound. There is nothing else that we can do here, she now needs calm and rest. And a little more comfort than what she has here. The best thing to do is to bring her home, Corporal."

Hearing these last words, Sepulveda seemed lost.

"But doctor, that is..." he started, "the trouble is, I don't know where she lives! I don't even know her! I was actually hoping _you_ could tell me about her."

"Ah Corporal, I'm afraid I can't be of any help to you, I don't know her either."

Both turned to Diego.

"Neither do I," he told them knitting his brow. "If none of us here knows her, then I'm afraid she's a stranger to the pueblo. Besides, she was riding on the Camino Real, coming from the opposite direction, from north. She must be a traveler coming from elsewhere...

"But it is out of the question to leave her here on this bench!" the doctor exclaimed. "She needs real rest!"

"Yet we can't take her to the barracks!" Sepulveda deplored.

"Anyway, I said _calm_, Corporal, and a minimum of _comfort_!"

"I'll take her to our hacienda," Diego suggested, "for the time she needs to recover."

"The alcalde will not agree with that, Don Diego," Corporal intervened.

"I fail to see why the alcalde would have a say in this matter," Diego replied rather coldly.

"Well..." Sepulveda mumbled watching the tips of his boots, "since it's Felipe who..."

"Felipe did nothing wrong!" Diego cut him briskly.

"...who... who was on the scene," the corporal diplomatically went on, "the alcalde will not want the lady's testimony and memories to be... influenced. If she ever wakes up one day," he added in a low voice.

"Anyway the ride back here on horseback has already tried her body a great deal," the doctor intervened. "I'd rather she doesn't make such a long journey, even in a cart: the bumps on the road, the jolts..."

"And the mission?" Sepulveda cut in. "The padre could perhaps…"

"The mission is neither a hotel nor a hospital, Corporal!" the doctor exclaimed. "And the padre has already much to do with the Chumash and the children in the orphanage, he already hasn't enough room for everyone!"

"A hotel!" Diego suddenly cried out. "Of course! And rest assured doctor, the journey won't be long at all!"

And not waiting for other two's reaction, he gently put one arm under the stranger's back, the other one under her knees, and lifted her like one carries a sleeping child. Taking great care to prop the señorita's head against his shoulder, he strode out of the doctor's office.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Victoria, your best room, quick!"

Her back to her tavern's door, Victoria Escalante was wiping some glasses behind the counter and almost startled hearing this as, for a tenth of a second, she believed she recognised Zorro's very firm and assured voice. But no, she thought immediately, firstly why would Zorro enter the tavern in broad daylight through the front door instead of discreetly using the service door giving onto the scullery, as he usually did? And above all, why would he ask for _a room_?

No, and what's more, Corporal Sepulveda's words soon dispelled her doubts before she even needed to turn around:

"But Don Diego," the corporal said, "are you quite sure about…?"

Victoria never knew what Diego was supposed to be sure about because Sepulveda left his question unfinished, his voice hesitant and seemingly not willing to phrase the end of his sentence.

_Diego_, uh? Hmmmyeah, on second thought it might as well be his voice, although more assertive and imperious than usual. And since when didn't he say a mere 'hello' or 'good afternoon' anymore, and did he forget to add a simple 'please'? Bah, she simply told herself, he must have gotten out of bed on the wrong side, or have had a bad day, that's all. After all, it sometimes happened to herself too. Smiling archly while inspecting the glass she had been wiping, Victoria wondered somewhat mischievously what on earth could be a bad day in Diego de la Vega's life. Had he gotten a splinter in his finger? Broken a nail? Had one of his damned experiments not worked out as expected?

But anyway, she would certainly not let him get away with it and, turning to face the newcomers, she decided to kindly and jokingly point out his momentary lack of manners:

"_Buenos días_ to you too, Don Die–"

But the last syllable of his name remained stuck in her throat when, still open-mouthed but with no sound coming out of it, Victoria discovered the sight now displayed before her eyes: Diego de la Vega carrying a _woman_ in his arms! Holding her gently against him, cradled against his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his neck!

That was most unusual, to say the least. And even, _this_ was the last thing she would have expected to ever see with her own eyes! Victoria felt her jaw drop in astonishment.

Was _she_ the mysterious woman he once told her about, the one he has secretly been in love with for many years? If so, he apparently finally confessed his secret to her, and avowed his feelings as well as the torch he's been carrying for so long, obviously...

Oh hey, hey, wait a minute, here! Did he just ask for – _demand_ – a _room_? A _bed_room? For himself and a _woman_?

And then suddenly the incongruity of this situation, combined with the peculiar way Diego was holding this woman – _carrying _her, in fact – finally struck Victoria, and she realised she was not witnessing the kind of scene she had first thought this display of cosy familiarity was, but that it was something more alarming. Obviously the woman was unconscious and Diego, not waiting for Victoria's reply, had already started climbing the stairs leading to the second floor where the inn's bedrooms were located.

Something was wrong. With this woman. Whoever she was, if Diego de la Vega carried her openly in his arms in as public a place as the pueblo's plaza in broad daylight, and urgently came to the tavern to rent a room for her, this woman was unwell. As Diego was climbing the last step and reached the landing, Victoria finally came out of her momentary stupor and extricated herself from behind her counter to follow in his footsteps.

** z**

The stranger was drench with sweat and burning with fever, he could feel it through her clothes, his large hand against the sleeve of her blouse. She shivered from time to time, slightly shaking with tremors for one second or two.

Victoria had caught up with Diego and took out her keys to open the door of the quietest and most comfortable room in her establishment. To Victoria's flurry of questions he could only answer with short sentences while he laid the young woman on the bed: yes she was ill, yes she was wounded, no idea of her name nor of who she was, but it was essential that she recovers. For Felipe.

With these few answers Victoria was hardly further along than before and Diego's last sentence finished to completely puzzle her. If he had talked to her in riddles she wouldn't have understood much less of it all. Meanwhile, the Corporal had caught up with them and entered the bedroom too.

Diego, as for him, was inspecting the stranger, looking for clues as to her identity: there was certainly someone somewhere to notify! And if she was indeed a traveler far away from home, why had she chosen to ride alone on the Camino Real?

Her clothes were simple and practical, suitable for a long horse ride; they didn't seem brand new, yet they were not worn out nor patched either, and were neither too large nor too small, appearing to have actually been tailored for her. She therefore was either middle class, or upper class with a practical enough mind to dress sensibly and without ostentation in order to travel comfortably.

Diego examined her hands: these were not a _peón_'s or _campesina_'s hands with marked skin, hardened by farm work, nor a servant's hands used to hard housework or laundry. These hands were almost soft, but even so a little bit marked by the handling of horse bridles and some minor daily chores. Rather middle class, then. _A priori._

Her nails were rather long and well kept, with the exception of the middle and ring finger ones on the right hand, perhaps broken in her fall. During his examination, Diego marked a short pause, surprised as he recognised something he knew very well: there, on the last phalanx of her right middle finger, opposite the index, her finger was somewhat deformed by a small bump, a callus he found on none other of her fingers, and he immediately identified its origin: this was what happened after many years spent holding a pen, writing several hours a day. So, middle class or upper class?

Her left hand was similar to her right one, except for the absence of the writer's bump, and above all, _above all_, it brought a significant piece of information about the stranger: there was no ring on her fourth finger. The sergeant had then probably been correct in calling her a 'señorita'.

Incidentally, she wasn't wearing any jewelry – wise precaution when setting out on a long journey alone – except for a golden chain around her neck with a finely engraved golden cross - beautiful craftsmanship of a skilled goldsmith, Diego assessed admiring it – and a holy medal, made of gold too.

A baptism medal, probably. _Ah!_ Diego thought_, with a bit of luck we will finally be able to find out about her first name, at least._ He gently turned the medal over. On its reverse side were inscribed in Latin a date – December 13th, 1763 – and a name: 'Adrianus'.

Well, so much for finding out about her name, because according to the señorita's apparent age, it was absolutely impossible that this baptism medal was hers. Moreover, 'Adrianus' was a masculine form. So who was this Adrián? Her father? Probably. And probably dead too, if she now had his medal...

Anyway, there was still no clue as to her identity, either first or last name. Nor as to the place where she came from. _North_... that was quite a vague clue! Maybe her clothes were labeled?

"Victoria, please," he asked, "can you give a look at her clothes while the corporal and myself turn our backs? Perhaps they will tell us of her name?"

And matching words with deeds he turned his back to the bed and looked out through the window, which gave onto the back of the tavern. A facade he knew well for having climbed it more than once, and had the huge advantage of not giving onto the plaza: an advantage for him because it guaranteed him greater discretion, and now an advantage for the stranger too, because it promised her the calm and quietness Dr. Hernandez heavily insisted on to give her a chance to recover.

The corporal joined him, allowing Victoria to somewhat undress the stranger with all due propriety.

"Anyway she needs other clothes," Sepulveda said, "she can't keep those on forever: they are dusty, stained with blood and drench with sweat."

"I can lend her a nightgown," Victoria offered. "Even if it's not exactly the right size for her, that will do. I'll ask another woman to help me get her changed."

Hearing these words, Diego suddenly remembered something and turned around:

"Victoria, I forgot to tell you: be careful with her shoulder, she got it dislocated a few hours ago!"

He then approached the bed, untying the silk sash he was wearing as a belt. Seeing that, Victoria hastily pulled the stranger's skirts back down on her legs; but Diego seemed not to care about decorum anymore and folded the patient's right arm over her stomach, after what, raising slightly her upper body with one of his arms, he slipped his sash under her back and then tied its fringed ends over her forearm, fastening the sash so as to pin her arm in this position.

"No name on her clothes," Victoria concluded after her close examination, "but I found this."

And she then handed him a very lovely cambric handkerchief, finely embroidered and hemstitched at the edged, a woman's handkerchief, adorned at its corner with a blue monogram made of two letters: _L.A._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Yes, it was essential that this _L.A._, whoever she was, awoke. And testified. Diego didn't doubt that her version would corroborate Felipe's. But the question was when. Yes, _when_; and not _if_. This second wording... well, he didn't even want to think about it. Yet the doctor had not seemed overly optimistic about the patient's condition, but Diego refused the possibility that she lost her life in whatever happened. She _had_ to testify, it couldn't be otherwise. Or else...

Diego shook his head to dispel this unpleasant thought, not unlike a drenched dog shakes himself dry. In the meanwhile, Felipe remained in jail. And a suspect. Who else but Diego himself would believe in his innocence? His father, surely; after all, he knew Felipe as well as himself did, he had partly brought him up too, during all those years himself was away in Spain. It was under Don Alejandro's care and guardianship that Felipe had finished childhood and then entered teenage, Diego remembered. His father would trust the boy's integrity, and his innocence.

Another thought came to his mind: he was convinced that the fact that Felipe did not speak, at least not through words and orally, would work against him. Come on, he knew too well that, to the majority, even to the best-meaning people of the pueblo, even to those with a good heart and who granted him their affection, Felipe was considered as... well as a bit… 'simple' so to speak, merely owing to his handicap. While the boy, as for him, understood absolutely everything and even far beyond what most people were able to grasp themselves; Diego was well placed to know that: he, who was so close to him in everyday life that he didn't just rub shoulders with him, had taken on – and was still carrying on – his education under his tutelage in advanced areas such as the latest scientific concepts or discoveries, and who "conversed" with him about everything and nothing was well aware that both Felipe's intelligence and knowledge were above average; especially in this remote pueblo of the new world where the thirst for culture and advanced academic education was not the daily concern of people who, first and foremost and above all else, had to run their business, whether it is an arid and barren land to cultivate with their hands in order to get from it the bare minimum for a living, a business to run or a large estate like his father's to manage.

Europe and its Enlightenment were very far away, the Spanish Motherland almost an abstract concept, and culture as well as academic knowledge did not even appear as a luxury there, but rather as an idleness, a lazy leisure, a vain coquetry which hardly befitted either _peónes_, merchants, soldiers or even wealthy landowners or well-born _caballeros_. A ridiculous preciosity, somehow... in other words, something to make any man appear a bit… wussy.

These interests and skills that in Madrid, in Barcelona, in Seville, in Paris, in Berlin and in London were the heyday of salons and of all that mattered in the most respected social circles, were looked down upon in this Californian pueblo, as a bizarre fancy at best – by Don Alejandro or Victoria for instance – but more generally were simply taken for perfectly ridiculous by the majority. Scientists, philosophers, upcoming glorious celebrities, and all those who through hard research and audacious theories were preparing both the world's future and the progress to come – from which, Diego was convinced, everyone would benefit without even knowing it – all these brilliant minds were here disregarded at best as insignificant, at worst as pathetic sissies, just on the grounds that they didn't spend their time settling their disagreements with their fists or sword in hand, on the simple pretext that when facing criticism or contestation they preferred honing their arguments over sharpening their blades...

But then an idea came to Diego's mind: if people here disregarded Felipe's sign language as insignificant simply because they hadn't learned it or didn't conceive that it could be fluently used, if they didn't consider it a language in its own right, just as valid as any other, or even if they suspected Diego to "adapt" the translation to his needs or as he wished, then Felipe just had to express himself in the good and simple Spanish everyone knew, understood and used, that was all. He would tell his version of the incident in a language Mendoza, Sepulveda and the alcalde could understand, and perhaps it would even the odds. A little bit, anyway...

"Victoria," he then said quickly, "can I borrow a quill and an inkwell? And would you also have a few sheets of paper to–"

"Really, Don Diego," the corporal interrupted, "with all due respect, do you think now is the right time for one of your articles? That won't bail Fe–"

But Diego swept his objection with an impatient wave of his hand before Sepulveda had even finished stating it and the corporal fell silent.

"Victoria..." Don Diego repeated in a tone that transpired an urgency she didn't understand, "please..."

He didn't seem to want to loose any time in explanations and it was such an unusual behaviour and tone from him that for once Victoria didn't even think about asking for one nor balking, and for once she complied without jibbing at it, quite taken aback by her friend's conduct. Unusual situations are curious in that they sometimes have the power to make us act very unusually ourselves...

"Under the counter, behind the bar... you'll find what you are looking for..." Victoria managed to splutter without leaving the bedside of the still unconscious stranger whom she was staring at with some interest, wondering if _she_ was the key to Don Diego's strange behaviour.

If that was the case and if he really did not know her, then she must have however made quite a strong impression on him, even in her current state, a puzzled Victoria reflected. _Strange_; all this was very strange. Obviously, Diego did not want to talk. At least not now. And obviously Corporal Sepulveda knew something she didn't… yet. It would therefore be wiser to try to turn to this source in order to learn a little bit more about this situation and Don Diego's odd reactions. So she let him get out of the room on his own and help himself under the counter so that she could find herself alone with the good corporal, whom she shouldn't have too much difficulties to make talk...

z ~ z ~ z ~ Z ~ z ~ z ~ z

Inkwell, quill pen and sheets of paper in hand, Diego strode again across the plaza this time towards the jail. He looked so determined that Mendoza didn't even think about denying him his request – well, his _demand_, almost! – to see Felipe again. Besides, the alcalde's orders couldn't have been any vaguer: he didn't clearly forbid visits to the prisoner, he just said he intended that the latter would be "kept under permanent heavy guard" and that no one would "interfere in this case, nor influence the testimony of either of the parties, not even, and particularly_ definitely not_ the de la Vegas".

But to Mendoza, 'visiting' wasn't necessarily 'interfering', and as long as a third party 'chaperoned' them to make sure that nothing in the interview would influence the young man nor dictate him what he should 'tell', then he didn't have the heart to deny it to Don Diego, poor man... Besides, determined as the latter seemed to be, the sergeant wouldn't like – for once – to find himself in Diego de la Vega's way, Mendoza thought hiding a slight grimace of apprehension at this idea...

"Felipe!" the father-to-be exclaimed with in his voice both the relief of a castaway who spots a ship and the worry of the same castaway who knows that the providential boat can go on its way without seeing him.

And again he was close to the cell in three quick strides, and again he clasped the young man's hands in his own through the bars, after laying hastily what he had been holding on the little worm-eaten table pushed against the wall, which was the only furniture outside the cells. Not that the cells themselves were well furnished, far from it: they were equipped all in all with a bench attached to the wall by chains, which served both as a seat and a berth for the prisoners, regardless of the number of people per cell. Felipe was alone in his, so he had been able to lie down to try and find some rest, and think about the situation; but precisely the concern caused by this very situation had hitherto prevented him from getting any repose.

He squeezed Diego's hands with all the despair this situation inspired him, and also with all the faith he placed in him, whom he was sure his salvation would come from. Although as of yet he hardly saw how...

"Felipe," repeated Diego, "here's something to write with."

He gave him successively the ink, the paper and then Victoria's quill through the bars.

"You're going to write here everything that happened this morning, until the patrol arrived. Absolutely everything, without omitting anything. Don't forget any detail, even if they seem insignificant; you never know, they might be of importance later. For now you are the only one who can testify of what happened then, since the soldiers were not there and the señorita hasn't awaken yet."

He had been careful to say "hasn't awaken yet", and not "hasn't regained consciousness", in order to preserve Felipe's hopes – and his own – and not to aggravate their shared concern about how things might turn out: the situation was already unpleasant enough as it was without having to think firstly that the young woman couldn't clear Felipe's name, and secondly that he could even end up facing a murder charge.

"Write down absolutely everything well, don't forget anything," Diego repeated. "It will be your deposition, as no one has bothered to ask you for it yet. Your account of the facts is essential to disculpate you. This will be your testimony, if need be. And when the señorita wakes up and confirm what you said, then the concordance between the two versions will make truth come to light and can only hasten your release; and then we can all forget this whole thing, all right?"

Felipe nodded, but probably less out of real conviction that everything would go that much all right than in order to reassure both himself and Diego who, although the he was trying to hide it, needed that as much as the young prisoner himself – come on! Felipe knew him well, and with time he had learned to read him and to decipher part of what he didn't tell him. That was what happened quite often by dint of sharing of secrets; and Felipe also had over the other people the advantage of expressing himself as much through looks, expressions and attitudes as through deliberate hand gestures, which made him able to notice theses same looks, expressions and attitudes in others, even when they were unintentional; and even when people tried to hide those behind some facade, he could sometimes manage to 'read' something. All the more so in someone he had known, lived and worked closely with for as long as he had with Diego; and the latter, despite all his talent and his experience in pretence, act and appearances – all things that he had been practicing and honing for so long now – couldn't always fool his closest confidant, almost his other self...

And perhaps even less easily than he succeeded in fooling himself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

_That can't be._

Here was the first thing that came to Victoria Escalante's mind when she heard Corporal Sepulveda's account.

Felipe? _Felipe?!_ Gentle, nice, always calm and very reliable Felipe?

_Felipe_, whom Don Diego was about to make his son?

It seemed just unbelievable.

_Felipe_, whom she had never seen have any improper gesture or conduct toward any young woman, whoever she was?

Yet Lord knows that in her tavern, she had seen many of these young boys, from all kinds of social background for that matter – stupidity being one of the few things that are pretty egalitarian, and perfectly evenly distributed in this world – who, on the grounds that three bristles were starting to grow on their chin, felt obliged to whistle at the girls passing by, to pinch the buttocks of honest female-workers whose job was to serve refreshments and meals, to fight with each other for a mere trifle, or also to heavily insist and press young ladies who had clearly showed their total lack of interest in their own little manly selves.

But she never had to complain about Felipe's behaviour towards anyone in her tavern, nor outside for that matter, nor did she ever have a reproach to issue to him or to report to Don Diego or Don Alejandro.

Felipe belonged to this silent majority – no pun intended here, she told herself – who had gone through that awkward age without causing too much trouble around him, without getting himself talked about. And she was quite sure that the credit went half to Felipe himself and to his responsible personality, and the other half to Don Diego and Don Alejandro who had supported and also sometimes guided him on this occasionally bumpy road that crosses the bridge from childhood to adulthood.

Oh, in the course of service, she had sometimes caught some gazes and stares from the boy towards such and such girl his age (or a little bit older, on occasion), sometimes intent, sometimes admiring, and often curious… but after all, what would be life and openness to the adult world without this strange and constant mystery that was, to both boys and girls, the other half of Humankind? Intriguing mystery indeed, which complexity one is beginning to perceive at this age when childhood has already been left behind but adulthood hadn't been fully entered yet...

_Aaaah__, boys... what a vast topic to herself too, at this very same age!_ she then remembered with a small smile, half-amused and half-nostalgic. She still remembered that, despite the limited leisure time she had to spend in reflecting about them, they had intrigued her for quite some time by then – and still did for that matter. Even now she sometimes didn't understand men and their logic... or rather, their _lack_ thereof.

Yes, apparently she still knew only very little more about it even now, as she would never have supposed that Felipe...

No, that couldn't be.

However, Corporal Sepulveda was so positive, yet so surprised himself! He too could swear that never before that day he would have bet one centavo on such behaviour, such a misdemeanour from this young man. But he said he heard the woman scream, and saw Felipe assault her, lying over her and pinning her forcibly while she was helpless and isolated, her state of undress not leaving any doubt as to the boy's doings and intentions...

It was disturbing, to say the least. And precisely, the corporal did seem disturbed.

And sickened, too. It was obvious, it showed enough through his words, his voice, and the look on his face.

Then now, did Victoria too begin to feel troubled? She wanted to refuse it, but still... And besides, willpower alone couldn't control feelings or thoughts, and wanting wholeheartedly to believe in something wasn't always enough to completely believe in it. And similarly, in this instance it was not because she wanted with all her might _not_ to believe something that she managed to entirely blot it out and to dispel the insidious thought away from her mind. Especially with a credible witness's account to back it up, and whose sincerity nor motives wasn't to be doubted or questioned for any logical reason. And Corporal Sepulveda really had no reason Victoria could think about to lie about this sordid matter; she even thought he was among those who liked Felipe, or at least who had a rather favourable view of him. Until this very morning, anyway...

Victoria turned in her bed. It was still completely dark outside but, disturbed by these thoughts that were turning over and over in her mind, she was unable to get back to sleep. Something, she didn't know what, had awakened her in the middle of the night and she knew she _had_ to go back to sleep soon, otherwise she would have the hardest time getting up in a couple of hours, and would spend a very arduous and trying working day due to lack of sleep.

...And over there, across the plaza, in the darkness of his cell, was Felipe having as much trouble sleeping as she was? Had he only been able to get any sleep at all?

...And what about Don Diego...?

He had puzzled her today... She didn't know exactly what to think of his attitude, of the unusual way he acted and reacted. But then... becoming a parent inevitably changed people, and she didn't know how she would react herself if her own son found himself in Felipe's situation. Surely, she wouldn't want to believe either that... Well in any case, she was certain she too would be ready to fight tooth and nail for him, just like Don Diego, even if...

...Even if...? Really?

But no, that couldn't be possible. Not Felipe. Not him. Not Felipe... right?

Suddenly she thought she heard a faint sound. Keeping her mind and ears on alert, she listened intently. Burglars? A customer getting up in the middle of the night?

_A visit from__ Zorro__?_

No, not at this time of the night.

_And that sound again._ It was coming from the bedroom next door. The best room in her tavern. The one occupied by the injured stranger.

Was she calling? Quick, Victoria got up and, for the sake of modesty, she wrapped herself in a woolen shawl.

"Señorita?" she called in a low voice, slightly knocking at the door next to hers.

No answer.

She pressed her ear to the wood of the door. Another noise. Then again. Plaintive whimpers. And other cries, a little more pronounced. Then a begging "No!". Victoria decided to enter without further delay, and rushed to the bed. After a few seconds her eyes grew accustomed to darkness, and the feeble moonlight entering through the unshuttered windows let her make out the shape of a body, tossing and turning feebly in her bed.

"Señorita?" she repeated.

But the other woman did not seem to hear her. She kept writhing in her bed, wrapping herself in the bedsheets, her features clearly contorted, and letting out feeble whimpers. Victoria leaned over her. The screams and moans heightened again.

"N-n-no!" the woman let out again.

"Señorita, wake up!"

But the patient remained unconscious. And delirious.

"Nooo!" she repeated. "No, n-n-no, no!"

She was now flailing, shaking her head from side to side, her hands gripping the white sheets, like she was in the middle of some struggle.

"No, don' do th't!" the stranger then seemed to beg someone.

Victoria was about to put her hand on the woman's forehead of to check for fever but she suspended her gesture. Obviously, the poor woman's delirium was plagued with nightmares.

"'beg ya!" the stranger said in a pleading voice that tug at Victoria's heartstrings.

She tried to shake her awake, but to no avail.

"Mustn't…" the young woman went on, "musn' do tha'!"

Her distress and agitation redoubled when she exclaimed:

"NOOO! Don' touch m'! Lemme..."

Victoria's heart sank for this woman, who was so obviously ensnared in the middle of a very vivid nightmare. Unless she was reliving a painful _memory_? The memory of _very recent_ events...?

Victoria frowned: she didn't want to let this thought creep into her mind. She laid her hand on the woman's forehead: she was burning up. On the bedside table was the herbal tea Don Diego had instructed her to give the patient as often as possible, but in her current condition the stranger was totally unable to swallow anything. All what Victoria was likely to do if she tried to give her something to drink was to make her choke on it and suffocate.

Anyway she knew she couldn't manage to get back to sleep herself for the rest of the night. She therefore drew a chair to the bed and tried her best to appease the poor girl, wiping her forehead, whispering soothing words and waiting for a better moment to give her her medicine.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"_Por_ _el amor de Dios,_ Ignacio, what more do you need?" Diego exclaimed, in a voice in which frustration vied with annoyance. "It all fits! I don't doubt your soldiers' testimonies, on the contrary! What they saw and heard perfectly complements Felipe's deposition!"

Saying that, he pointed his forefinger to a pile of handwritten pages lying on the alcalde's desk, and tapped them repeatedly with his finger, as if to strengthen his point.

"_Too_ perfectly if you want my opinion, Diego. Which is indeed very troubling, don't you think?" the alcalde replied with an oily tone that did nothing but stir up Diego's anger. "Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that fit too perfectly..." he added.

"But of course it fits together, as that's what really happened!" Don Diego exclaimed.

"In the real world – and I speak from experience, Diego – things never fit _that well_ together. There is _always_ such and such small forgotten detail, overlooked or deliberately not mentioned, that leaves a small void, a discreet gap, a bit of play between the pieces. While here..."

De Soto paused and threw Diego a knowing look, almost accusingly.

"Here," he went on, "everything fits perfectly, too perfectly. As if..."

Another pause from de Soto. Another look aimed at Diego.

"…As if he'd been told the exact content of the patrol's testimony, and had been dictated a version of the story that could explain absolutely each and every point reported by my men. Without as much as a hitch, with great care given to continuity, to consistency between the two stories... You must admit that it's somewhat unsettling..."

"I don't like your insinuations at all, Ignacio," Diego said in an icy voice that slightly trembled with an anger he still managed to keep under control… for now.

He took a deep breath in order to calm down: physically assaulting an alcalde, even in a moment of anger, was never a good idea – at least unmasked – and wouldn't help his son in any way, quite the contrary.

And well, a fat lot of good that'd do to Felipe, having Diego getting himself locked up as well...

"In short, _Señor_ Alcalde, you're keeping my son in jail and holding the charges against him on the ground that his account of the facts is entirely consistent with your soldiers' findings and report, is that right? You must admit this is quite a peculiar logic, to say the least..."

"Your _son_, did you say? So you're persisting in this eccentric idea of yours?"

Diego was about to retort when Soto then shrugged with an air of total indifference and brushed aside whatever he was about to answer back with a tad dismissive sweeping gesture.

"Bah," the alcalde said, "after all you're free to do as you wish."

De Soto couldn't have made it more blatant that he couldn't care less. An attitude that, in a way, got even more on Diego's nerves. No insult, no outwardly despising comment could have seemed more insulting in his eyes than this so clearly claimed indifference. But he champed at the bit and concentrated on Felipe's current predicament: this was what really mattered.

"In any case," de Soto went on, "and as I just told you, in the real world stories never match that well, they never complement each other that perfectly. So, as long as I am not convinced of your… servant's..."

He paused on this last word, as if to emphasise the small victory he had just gained over Diego about Felipe's current status.

"...innocence, he will remain in jail," de Soto finished. "It will take more than the word of a deaf-mute accused of assault on a defenseless woman for me to trust his good faith and leave him free to come and go, at the risk of endangering the other señoras and senoritas of this pueblo. These ladies' security is, I remind you, _my_ responsibility, like that of all Los Angelinos, and I wouldn't shirk my duty towards them."

Diego was now clenching his fists and jaw, and he saw that there was nothing more he would get from de Soto for now.

"Basically, I need to find flaws in Felipe's account of the facts for you to consent to believe him..."

"In the absence of the victim's testimony, I cannot take a suspect at his word on the sole basis of his deposition, even set down on paper. There is no evidence either that he is telling the truth or that no one did 'lend him a helping hand' in writing it."

Diego narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, but managed to contain himself. However, he hastened to leave the alcalde's office, without bothering to say goodbye: there were limits to his patience – although it was very well trained and practised – and he preferred not to open his mouth now, for fear that he'd say something that would cause harm to Felipe's cause, and perhaps also his own...

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Senorita Escalante's temper seemed to be quite short this very morning, as some of the tavern's patrons could note when they found themselves bearing the brunt of it. Yes, she was rather grumpy, for lack of sleep.

And a moody Victoria Escalante was never fun to deal with.

Diego de la Vega, for his part, wasn't in the brightest mood either, what with Felipe's situation casting a shadow on his spirits. And the conversation he had just had with the alcalde didn't do anything to dispel all these huge clouds currently darkening his usually even – and polished – temper.

The mood was therefore stormy on both parts when he entered the tavern, seeking some comfort from a conversation with the woman he secretly loved, before he'd go upstairs to the unknown patient's bedside and check on her condition. He was anxious for her to finally regain consciousness so that she can get Felipe out of the very tricky situation he was in. The alcalde had made very clear to him that it would be the surest – and maybe the _only_ – way to exonerate his son. And to clear Felipe's name and restore his honour to everyone's eyes. To the eyes of all those who doubted…

At first, everything was going well: Victoria greeted Don Diego, he made himself push his dark thoughts at the back of his mind to answer her with a smile, and soon they were talking about the woman Diego had brought there the day before, who was still sleeping somewhere upstairs.

When Victoria stifled a yawn for the third time, Don Diego asked her:

"Are you alright? You seem a bit…"

"A bit _what_," she snapped.

Taken aback, Diego staggered a bit under the unexpected blow and didn't answer right away. Victoria went on:

"A bit _tired_, is that it? I'm looking drawn, is that what you mean? That I'm looking awful?"

"You… What? Diego stammered. NO! You never look awful, Victoria!

But she wasn't listening to him anymore and went on:

"_Yes_, I'm tired. Thanks to your stranger there," she said pointing a finger at the upper floor. "Because as I told you earlier, she had a rather restless night."

"Did she wake up?" Diego asked briskly, perking his head up.

"No," she answered in an annoyed voice, "otherwise that's the first thing I would have told you when you entered my tavern! No, she didn't wake up, but she's gotten into delirium. Loudly enough to shorten my night, by the way. So, I went to her bedside."

At that point of her account, an impatient patron called out to the landlady from the other side of the tavern:

"Señorita! I think you've forgotten my other jug!"

"Don't you see I'm in the middle of a conversation here?" she snapped at him. "Your jug is coming, but just hold on a minute!"

"Err…" Diego said tentatively, "If I might, Victoria, you run the risk of losing your clientele if you talk–"

"Oh but really, what do _you_ know about clientele, Diego? Or about managing a tavern, for that matter?"

It was getting off to a bad start, Diego thought as he was himself quite annoyed by Victoria's tone getting on his nerves on top of everything else. It was starting off on the wrong foot, and most importantly it was starting off askew!

"I'm afraid we're wandering off, here, Victoria," Diego told her after he took a deep breath to calm down.

Victoria briefly closed her eyes and breathed in too, admitting that Diego had a point there.

"You're right, please forgive me," she sighed. "I'm afraid sleep deprivation doesn't agree with me…"

His usual patience being quite short today, Diego eagerly brought the conversation back to the subject that mattered to him:

"So you said she was delirious for a part of last night?"

"Yes. Shortening my own night, by the way. Whatever, at first it seemed incoherent: moans, some random interjections, these kinds of things–"

"_Interjections?_" Diego cut in. "Oh, so she was _talking_ in her sleep?"

Visibly annoyed by his interruption, she failed to hide it.

"Yes," she answered a bit too strongly, "I mean, yes she spoke, but I'm not sure she was _sleeping_. I don't know… can hallucinating and being delirious be called 'sleeping', anyway?"

"Hallucinating?"

"Oh, Don Diego, it seemed to be horrible for her, poor thing… I think she was reliving… It must have been awful for her. In any case it was heart-rending, I was there, standing right next to her, there was nothing I could do for her, and she was writhing… and begging… one would have had to have a heart of stone not to… not to sympathise with her in… well, I'm not sure how to… in what she's been through!

Victoria seemed very flustered and she ended her sentence looking away, first to the side at a bunch of early regulars, then she lowered her head and stared at the tea towel she wash holding and twisting in her hands. Yes, she seemed troubled, but to Diego the most troubling was that she seemed not to want, not to _dare_ look at him.

"Oh, and _what_, exactly?" he asked in a colder tone than he wanted to. "What, pray tell, has she been through, according to you?"

There was even in his voice a hint of warning tinged with thread, not unlike that Zorro used when addressing the alcalde for instance. But Victoria was feeling too awkward to note it, and also too annoyed with Diego: she was resenting him a little for trying to make her say aloud what she barely dared to acknowledge inwardly. She tried to dodge the issue, to kick into touch:

"Well, er…" she faltered, "I don't… er… I mean…"

She paused a moment, still not raising her eyes to her friend's face, like she was fascinated by her dishcloth that was now as twisted as if she wanted to wring it out. Then in a lowered voice, barely audible, she added:

"…y'know…"

There was no way she would have dared to look Diego in the face at this very instant. But if she had, she would have found him white-faced, pallid, nearly aghast. Disbelieving, too.

Then he stiffened, straightened up even more, pursed his lips and gritted his teeth, and in a voice colder and curter than anything she had ever heard from someone she liked, he replied:

"No I don't know."

Rallying her courage that had gone on the lam, she finally dared to raise her eyes to his face: she had never seen him that closed, that shut-down before. So foreign and different from the easy-going and affable Diego she had been rubbing shoulders with for many years.

Clenched-jawed. Stiff-shouldered. An attitude he demonstrated not even toward de Soto. To this point, at least. His antagonism toward the alcalde was always prudently contained; showed, granted, but not so… pronounced. Displayed

He went on, his tone and whole attitude still as chilly:

"And you don't know either, as you weren't there."

Victoria's short night caught up with her bad mood and her natural heated temper, and she perked up to her normal feisty self:

"And _you_ weren't there last night," she accused him. "_I_ was. I was there, right beside her. You haven't heard her cries. _I_ have. You haven't heard her beg… You haven't–"

She stopped short when she finally took notice that a part of her customers were watching her and were intently listening to their discussion. She lowered her voice considerably, but her tone remained as firm as before when she told him barely above a whisper:

"You haven't heard her beg him not to touch her, to let go of her… Oh Don Diego, it was so… Well, I can't find the word, but even though I'd like to do as though I hadn't heard, try as I may I can't. I _have_ heard. And it's impossible for me to forget that!

"And what, then?" Diego asked crisply. "Just on some words mumbled by a delirious stranger whose story you don't know, you no longer trust Felipe whom you've been knowing since he is a child? You take back the faith you had in him? Is _this_ what your affection is like? Not _you_, Victoria…"

He paused, pursed his lips again, furrowed his brow, peered at her as if he could see through her, to the inmost depths of her being, then he went on:

"You blindly trust a masked man whose name, face, history, home, and even kind of life you know nothing about, to the point of giving him your faith; but at the first hearsay, at the first deceptive appearance you're willing to believe the worst about Felipe? Does one have to be sheer mystery to have your trust and faith? Can't you give them fully to a very real man, whom you've been knowing and seeing everyday for years?

Diego told her this in such an angry and reproachful tone of voice that it left her under the impression that in his eyes, it was as if _she_ herself had double-locked Felipe's cell. That was quite a bit much to Victoria, who didn't like Diego's accusatory tone at all.

What? He dared try to make her look bad, while she had housed, tended, nursed and watched over the stranger Diego himself had brought her! While she gave up half her night at the bedside of a woman who wasn't anything to her, after all! Meanwhile, where was _he_ last night? Quite simply cosily ensconced in his bed! That was rich, and she intended to make him aware of that.

"Well, I'll tell you what: tonight, _you_ will watch over your stranger, and _you_ will spend your night at her bedside, sitting on a mere chair! That will make quite a change from last night, that you probably spent like all other nights: snugly burrowed under your embroidered sheets, your head resting on a goose down pillow. After all, _you_ don't have a job to carry out all day long on the day after; you can go to bed at dawn tomorrow, and also take a loooooong siesta!"

Diego seemed to take very badly what Victoria just threw in his face, and with a low voice quivering with rage he retorted:

"You know nothing whatsoever about my nights, Victoria; and if you imagine that I could sleep even one wink last night, then it only proves, if proof were still needed, just how little you know me."

He took a long breath, trying to calm the anger threatening to make him reveal things he would later regret having let slip out in a surge of frustrated rage.

"As little as you know Felipe, it seems," he added.

Under that blow, Victoria let out a long sigh, but she didn't recoil. Anyway, Don Diego seemed to be far too worked up right now to see reason, and she was also beginning to think that perhaps, she indeed didn't know him that well: never before had she seen him in such a state, and what's more, never before had he thrown such things in her face. Before this day, she had never really quarrelled with Diego de la Vega, and she was currently discovering how _not_ pleasant it was. At all.

He wasn't pulling any punch.

After this short pause, she was about to retort sharply when she saw Diego reach for his jacket's inside pocket and take some handwritten sheets of paper out of it; he laid them on the counter and told her:

"If ever perchance you're still the slightest bit interested in truth, read this."

She glanced at the folded sheets and recognised the basic-quality paper she used here in her tavern, the one she had given Diego the day before.

"Felipe has set down on paper what happened yesterday morning," he told her. "I'd like to make clear, before you make the same accusations as the alcalde did, that he did so without me giving any indication as to what the soldiers said they heard and saw. He wrote it alone yesterday night, in duplicate, and I left one of the copies with the alcalde – not that it seemed to convince him in the least, incidentally, but well, you know de Soto… But _you_, Victoria… if a semblance of faith in Felipe remained in you, read this."

Victoria felt a bit shaken by Diego's absolute certainty but, still too angry with him and his accusations, she didn't let it show.

"And when exactly am I supposed to find the time to do that?" she retorted with a hint of bad faith. "My tavern begins to be quite overcrowded, my customers are getting impatient, and I am on my own to take care of it. Surprising though it might seem to you, some people have work to carry out!"

"Well, there's still siesta time," Diego pointed out through gritted teeth.

"I happen to already have something else planned for siesta time," she replied sharply.

"And what exactly?" Diego asked, suddenly anxious to know with whom she planned to make use of her free time.

"Well, siesta!" she snapped tit for tat. "Because, it might come as a surprise to you but under three hours a night I have some difficulties to fully function and get the daily work done."

Diego stared at her a while, seemingly preparing his next retort. Then he seemed to reconsider and glanced up, as though he wanted to see through the walls and ceiling to check on the wounded stranger who was resting in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Then he brought his attention back to Victoria.

"Still, find so much as five minutes of your time to take a look at this" he told her patting his son's prose with him palm. "I leave this copy with you, I'll get it back after siesta."

He then turned on his heels and climbed the stairs two by two before rushing into the stranger's bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Siesta time seemed to take forever to come that day, as far as Victoria was concerned. The morning had dragged on, lunch was drawing out and the patrons were many, noisy and demanding; or that was at least how it felt to her.

Her customers, as for them, had quickly noticed that the landlady had gotten up on the wrong side of the bed; and if it had escaped the attention of some less observant customers, her altercation with Don Diego opened their eyes. But what had most surprised the "public" of their impromptu little scene was not to hear señorita Escalante raise her voice and fly off the handle: her rather... volcanic temperament, to put it politely, was quite well-known around.

No, what stunned the witnesses of this heated exchange was Don Diego's behavior: first, he was not used to stand up to anyone who raised their voice even the slightest bit, but especially to some regulars – more perceptive than others – it was very surprising to see him clash with señorita Escalante of all people. Indeed, and without him being aware of it, some patrons had taken good notice on the one hand of his regular attendance to the tavern – for a man who didn't indulge much in... 'manly' drinks, so to speak – and on the other hand of the slightly too intent and lingering gazes he turned on the landlady when she was not looking at him.

Yes, to these ones, the short but bitter rant about Zorro he let out during his heated discussion with Victoria really made sense. But after all, they thought, why meddle in others' affairs of the heart? Anyway, the poor guy had zero chance, so they totally understood that he wouldn't tell his ladylove anything about these feelings...

Now that the show was over, they stuck their nose back some into their plates, the others into their glasses, surprised however that de la Vega had dared to stand up to someone, and to throw señorita Escalante against the ropes of the metaphorical boxing ring.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Siesta time, finally!

Victoria let out a sigh of relief once her last customer walked out and her tavern was therefore empty.

She felt drained, really, and some kind of constant buzz remained in her mind: she absolutely needed some quiet and some rest.

Dragging her feet, she shuffled to the stairs and slowly climbed it, motivated however by the prospect of a well-deserved nap. Once in her room she took off her apron, didn't bother to hang it on the hook behind her door but carelessly threw it over a chair next to her bed, and she slumped onto the mattress.

She was tired. She was sleepy. She thought she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, but that was not the case. The scene with Don Diego kept coming back to the front of her mind. His bitterness, his unusually hard and curt words, and above all his tone, as cold and cutting as ice. His anger. His concern for Felipe.

And her own words. Her own harshness and reproaches toward Diego. Her accusations of laziness and idleness. And Felipe... At some point during the quarrel she totally lost sight of his fatherly concern, anguish and suffering for Felipe. Yes, how could she accuse him of having spent a quiet night when he was acutely and sorely aware that his son was in jail? Of course he too had not slept a wink either!

She was very tired herself, yes, and she'd like to sleep, here and now, right away, but the thought of Don Diego was preventing her from it. Or rather, her own guilty conscience was. This was however not her fault that Felipe was in jail! She was in dire need of sleep, and Don Diego dared ask her to give up her siesta to read whatever he told her to: the nerve of this man!

Well, all right, she was going to sleep first, but afterwards if there was still some time left before getting back to work, then she'd read those damn papers...

Two more minutes had flown by, and she still wasn't asleep... Felipe's testimony was there, in the pocket of her apron, within reach... But really, she was too sleepy. Three minutes... she'd just have to reach out to the chair and dig into the pocket...

The church bell rang the quarter of the hour, and she still wasn't sleeping.

_Oh__, all right Don Diego, you win!_

A little annoyed, she sat up with some difficulty on the edge of the mattress and grabbed her apron. Delving her hand into her pocket she pulled out the pages Felipe had frantically scribbled in his jerky writing, perhaps flustered by the situation and the issue at stake. Leaning back against her pillow, she began to read.

Surprised, she found that the account began very abruptly, but after all, she thought, Felipe had probably chosen to go straight to the point, to get directly to the heart of the matter: it was a testimony for an investigation, not a personal letter or a sappy romance novel. Facts, nothing but facts, Don Diego probably told him.

She brought her attention back to Felipe's story, perusing the first paragraph once again and going on reading:

_The__ horse reared up and its rider did her best to stay in the saddle; she held fast and tugged hard at the reins, trying to control her mount. But it was not enough and her horse reared even more. This time, the animal fell over on its right side with its rider still in the saddle, her mouth wide open, probably screaming._

_I feared__ for her and immediately dismounted to get to her side, assess her condition and offer my assistance. _

_She was__ clenching her teeth and her face was contorted, clear indications that she was obviously in pain. Luckily the horse got up, releasing her left leg which was previously trapped between its flank and the ground, and it hobbled several paces away from us, allowing me to crouch down __right at its mistress's side__._

_I__ cannot say whether or not she moaned but she was furrowing her brows, screwing up her eyes and breathing heavily, both through her mouth and her dilated nostrils. I feared she had broken a few ribs in the fall, but a quick examination helped me identify the source of her pain: she had fallen onto her shoulder and under the impact and the angle of collision, it dislocated. _

_Signing__, I tried to make her understand that I would help her, that she shouldn't move, shouldn't try to get up. I also tried to make her understand that I could neither hear nor speak, but I think she didn't understand any my signs; her mind was probably too fogged by pain for that, or maybe she was dizzy and dazed from the impact on the ground, because I noticed a trickle of blood running from her forehead down her temple, and a bump was forming just above it: Her head must have hit the ground a bit hard when she fell. Luckily there was no stone right there, just some grits that scratched the side of her face._

_The woman__ seemed to finally understand that I wanted to assess her condition and check her injuries. She let me get closer. Her left leg that had been briefly crushed by the horse's weight did not seem to have suffered from it, and the victim did not appear to have any broken ribs – for what little I could judge _–_as__ she was taking deep breaths, something she otherwise couldn't have done without feeling some very sharp pain._

_I can only suppose that she__ first fell on her upper body, with her shoulder and her head being the first parts to hit the ground, taking all the blow of the impact. It therefore let me hope that the blow to her forehead, the scratches to her face and the dislocation were the only injuries she suffered from; nothing life-threatening, I thought._

_However,__ it was essential to reset her shoulder, first __to alleviate her current pain__, and then because in the case of such a wound, time plays against recovery: the longer the head of the humerus remains dislodged, the more ligaments, tendons and the whole joint may keep some aftereffects, leading to frequent relapses while performing seemingly harmless gestures._

_I therefore tried to__ make her understand that I was going to lift her upper body up and sit behind her to try to reset her shoulder back in its socket, but once again she seemed not to understand my signs. Moreover, she seemed more and more restless and agitated, out of pain and confusion I guess._

_But as I__ was trying to calm her down and to make myself understood, I saw the scorpion creep up on us._

What? Victoria exclaimed inwardly. A scorpion? He hadn't written about it yet! She then resumed reading.

_…I saw the__ scorpion creep up on us. Before I had time to react, probably excited by all the previous agitation the scorpion attacked the woman by stinging her right thigh through her clothing. Her face contorted even more for a few seconds. _

_Afterwards__ she looked at her leg, incredulously at first, then she seemed to understand what had just happened. For my part I tried to keep a cool head and to act quickly: I took my knife, hiked the victim's skirt and petticoat to clear the sting, signing to her that the venom had to be drained out. But whether she did not understand or she panicked, in any case she began to writhe and asked me not to do it – at least according to what I think I read on her lips._

_But I knew__ that the more she moved and thrashed about, the more quickly the venom would spread in her body, and I had to get it out. I suspect she doesn't know the first thing about snake bites or scorpion stings nor how to treat them. Pressed for time and having to act fast, so I decided to do without her cooperation, thinking that I could and would later explain to her the need for this procedure. _

_I__ pressed on her knee with mine to trap it__ and prevent it from moving__,__ and with one hand I pinned her thigh to the ground while I was holding the knife in the other. But the woman writhed even more and, probably frightened by the knife, she asked me to let go of it, but I had to force the venom out and I didn't have time to explain it to her through signs: time was of the essence. So I increased my grip on her leg by pressing on it with all my strength: it was absolutely necessary to prevent it from moving while I was cutting through the skin and flesh, for fear that the blade might slip, miss the sting, and also hurt her elsewhere. And I also had to make a clean and quick cut._

_I tried__ not to panic and sharply incised the area of the sting, from a few inches above it, running right on it, and going on down to a few inches below. Then I pressed the edges of the cut to make it bleed and evacuate as much poison as possible._

_The woman had__ stopped struggling, she simply stared at the wound, looking aghast, and said nothing. But I did not worry, thinking that once she'd been brought to the pueblo's doctor, the latter would explain everything to her._

_Now that__ she was calmer, I had to take care of her shoulder. Again I attempted to sign to her, to let her know I was going to reset the bone back in place and that she had to trust me, but realising I was going to touch her arm and her shoulder that ached greatly, she cringed and I think she tried to tell me not to touch it. With her other hand she motioned me to move back. She seemed to be terribly dreading the pain that she was already imagining just by thinking someone would touch her arm._

_But then again__ I knew I had to reset the head of the bone_ _in its socket__ as soon as possible. Again she panicked and probably shouted, and perhaps also spoke to me, but I was no longer looking at her face. She struggled and didn't let me move to sit behind her, so to reduce the dislocation I had to remain in front of her, pinning her to the ground with my upper body and holding both her shoulders down with my left arm, my fingers palpating the articulation to feel the position of the bone, while with my right hand I gripped her arm just above the elbow, and with a jerk I set the shoulder back in place. _

_In doing so__, I felt some air blow at the side of my face, which makes me think she shrieked loudly. But when I looked back at her I saw that, probably due to the combined effects of the pain she was experiencing and the blow to the head she had received__ when she fell_ –_ and maybe also of the amount of venom that had already spread in her body – she had lost consciousness._

_And that's when__ I felt something poking in my back and turned around__:__ I then saw Sergeant Mendoza point his sword at me. I got up and tried to make him understand the urgent need to bring this woman to the pueblo as soon as possible, and to have a doctor tend to her. It took me a whole minute to realise what the soldiers_ _believed__ had happened, as I was a very long way from even thinking about such a thing. And when I did realise, I attempted to explain myself, but try as I might it was to no avail: none of them understood my signs. Telling myself that, once back in the pueblo, the misunderstanding would clear up quickly, and especially once the woman regained consciousness, I let the soldiers tie my hands and take me back to the village, though it pained me to be treated like a criminal, especially by people I knew well. And who_, _I thought__ – mistakenly, apparently – knew me well too._

On this bitter note, Felipe ended his deposition, leaving Victoria much to think about.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Don Diego was simmering and seething inwardly, out of frustration and forced idleness. He hated doing nothing, not _being able_ to do anything, feeling helpless and useless. This was, contrary to what he let show to others, the exact opposite of who and what he was.

And there, at the bedside of this woman who persisted in not regaining consciousness, he felt he was at the apex of his helplessness. His only solace was that since the incident that befell José Rivas over two years ago, the alcalde had learned not to rush to judgment, or at least to sentence, and for the time being Felipe was only in custody. But he might well never be cleared, Zorro seeming right now equally as useless in this matter as Diego felt helpless, as the latter was well aware of. Here was there no criminal or delinquent to catch and turn over to the authorities in lieu of his son, because in spite of appearances there had been no crime or offence.

And only this woman could testify of it and convince the alcalde. As well as the rest of the pueblo.

Even Victoria... Yet he wouldn't have thought...

He let out a long and heavy sigh. Cruel thought. Disillusion, even. A cold shower.

He straightened up, shaking his head: now was not the time to think about that. His only concern at that moment was to be Felipe.

Not that this was a more cheerful subject, far from it. Of all the people Diego had seen so far, his father was the only one who had not believed even for one second the serious charges leveled against him. The alcalde, Mendoza, the doctor, the corporal, the fruit vendor on the plaza, the old cripple begging next to the hitching post, and even Victoria, all believed to some degree in what Felipe was accused of.

_And__Padre Benitez?_ Diego wondered. He too knew Felipe quite well, would he believe in the young man's innocence? He who regularly 'heard' him in confession, who had sometimes advised him, who could look inside the hearts of his flock… would he have enough faith in Felipe not to stop at appearances, although highly adverse?

This made him think that he was himself probably in need of his spiritual assistance in this ordeal, since he couldn't take any action right now. And given Felipe's situation, a prayer to the Holy Mother, comforter of the distressed, would not go amiss anyway. And it would certainly do some good to himself too.

He glanced at the still unconscious woman, who seemed to be peacefully resting. It was siesta time, all was quiet around him and probably throughout the whole pueblo, and he thought that, after all, she did not _constantly _need someone at her bedside.

And yes, tormented as he was, Diego probably needed a soothing talk with the good _padre_.

Taking good care not to make any noise so that he wouldn't wake anyone does during this sacrosanct siesta time – after all, had he not mastered that subject, in all these years? – he exited the bedroom, went downstairs and left the tavern, heading for the church.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

_Santa__Madre de Dios, Thou who have seen Thy Son be wrongfully condemned, I beg Thee, intercede for mine with our Lord. Nuestra Señora la Reina de Los Ángeles, Mother of all men, who have seen Thy Son suffer and die to redeem us, I beg Thee on my knees, protect mine, support and comfort him throughout this trial._

_Saint Joseph,__who have welcomed, raised, protected, and loved the child you have not sired, hear my fatherly prayer._

_You, my__dear mother, who left us at such an early age and never had the joy to know Felipe in your earthly time, watch over this grandson of yours you've never met, but whose heart and worth you now know from your Eternity._

_O Dios, have mercy on us._

_Saint Philip__the Apostle, you who followed and assisted the Lord during His earthly life and bore His message beyond it, please watch over him who bears your name and hear his word._

_Saint__James the Greater, under whose auspices I was baptised and whose name I bear, I beg you, extend your protection to my son._

_Holy__Innocents, patron saints of foundlings, please keep watching over Felipe and make it so that his innocence is proved._

_Saint__Raymond Nonnatus, patron saint of those whose lips are sealed and of secret-keeping, of victims of rumours, lies and false testimony, intercede with the Lord so that our lies, through either word or omission, might be forgiven to both of us. And if someone still has to atone for those sins, then may it be granted to me to be the only one to expiate them, and to take upon myself the weight of the lies Felipe has committed for me, to protect me._

Kneeling on a prie-dieu in the transept, before a modest statue of the Virgin and a simple wooden cross, Diego was praying fervently. Though the weight of his lie toward his father burdened him constantly, though what he hid from Victoria always unpleasantly tinged with bitterness the moments he spent – masked or not – with her, he had never really dared question himself about the sin of lying that he was constantly guilty of before men and towards God, who yet saw everything.

Until then he had comforted himself by telling his troubled soul once and for all that the Lord who, precisely, saw everything, also saw inside his heart and understood the need for these constant and repeated lies. He had never really thought about the consequences of making Felipe lie too, even with his total agreement, even if it was his choice. Over the last few years, he had somehow raised Felipe with lie as a constant companion. Probably not the healthiest or soundest environment and companionship for a young soul in development, Diego thought suddenly.

Was what they were experiencing now some backlash? Great perpetrators of lies on a daily basis, they now found themselves trapped in turn by another lie, for which they were this time absolutely not responsible, with which they had for once nothing to do. Ironic, wasn't it?

In this instant, Diego felt the need to seek the _padre_'s assistance, even though he could not, of course, confide in him totally open-heartedly, for the good priest's own safety. But upon his arrival at the church he had been answered that Padre Benitez was away for the rest of the day. He would therefore have to postpone. Too bad, Felipe too would probably have appreciated a visit from good _padre_.

Roused out of his reverent contemplation, Diego reluctantly got up and decided to get back to his vigil over the sick stranger, before going back to the _cuartel_ to visit Felipe in his cell and spend some time with him, to try to reassure him and take his mind off things, if ever possible.

Thinking about the _cuartel_ and walking along it suddenly gave Diego an idea to try to learn more about the stranger: Felipe had told him that the soldiers had brought back her horse, who limped, and he thought that it was certainly still tied there. She was certainly not traveling empty-handed and had to have some baggage with her, and in this baggage, personal belongings that could 'talk' about their owner.

Indeed, there was there an unfamiliar horse, whose front left ankle had been carefully bandaged but who, paradoxically, had not even been unsaddled, poor thing... But sure enough this suited Don Diego rather well, as he could reach into her saddle bag at leisure. Then, taking pity on the poor animal, he put aside his initial idea and unsaddled the horse, setting saddle and stirrups astride on the hitching post, after what he simply grabbed the saddle bag and brought it back with him to the tavern. It was still siesta time, there was hardly anyone around, and no one did ask him any question.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

About to go downstairs to reopen her tavern now that potential customers were roused from siesta, Victoria Escalante threw a glance out through the window to see whether activity resumed in Los Angeles.

Huh? What on earth was Don Diego doing, rummaging through this woman's belongings?

She had recognised her horse by the description Corporal Sepulveda had made of it, and anyway, there were not so many lame nags in the _cuartel_!

Whatever, Don Diego seemed to take a very close interest in that woman, Victoria reflected. Bah, after all, what concern was it of hers? At least now _he_ was the one keeping watch over her!

Still, a man, a bachelor, spending so much time alone at a lady's bedside, in her bedroom! Granted, she was not a _woman_ but a _patient_ here, and he was acting as sick-nurse, but still! She wasn't fully sure it was very seemly. Especially as he was going to spent the night by her side! The _night_! The _whole_ night, with her!

Victoria was nearly coming to regret that the stranger wasn't coming from the kind of social backgrounds where a lady never went anywhere without a duenna. And she wondered: who could play chaperone to Diego and that woman? Surely she wasn't going to do it herself, or the whole point of having saddled him with the nursing duty so that she could peacefully sleep in her own bed all night long would thereby be lost!

But still... Diego and a woman, alone a whole night in the same bedroom... it didn't seem very proper.

Not that she did not trust Diego or thought he wouldn't be a gentleman: she knew he was. She had herself experienced quite similar circumstances a few years ago, when she and Diego had been forced to take shelter in an old isolated mill and spent the night there. He hadn't tried anything whatsoever, not the slightest attempt or gesture, not even a sidelong glance, nothing! Nothing untoward. The perfect gentleman. It had even been almost a little slighting, unflattering, in a twisted way...

She did not have time to reflect further on the matter as Diego came in, carrying a large saddle bag. When he saw her he paused almost imperceptibly and Victoria, as for her, froze for a split second before turning to another direction, feeling the sudden and pressing urge to check the bottles lined up on the shelf behind her counter.

Diego and Victoria hadn't crossed path again since their earlier quarrel, and the former still felt disappointed, annoyed and saddened, when the latter was now rather sheepish and not very happy with herself.

In short, neither felt too comfortable in the presence of the other. And unfortunately, no one else was present in the tavern at this moment. They could not therefore pretend to ignore each other and immerse oneself in a conversation with some other client; they had to face up to the awkward situation.

Rather embarrassed, Diego cleared his throat and, his voice a bit forced and not very natural, asked in a tone that he tried to make trivial:

"I hope the heat did not inconvenience you... Were you able to get some rest?"

_Pathetic_, he berated himself. _Why on earth couldn't I find anything else to tell her?_

Still very tense, hardly daring to look him in the eyes, Victoria was however relieved that he seemed to want to act as if nothing happened, and she tried to play along. She answered in a somewhat forced voice:

"Yes, thank you Don Diego... You are right," she added after a short pause, "it's rather hot today."

_Oh, honestly! _she then told herself. _I don't even have the guts to tell him that I finally read Felipe's version of the facts nor to apologize for nearly calling him lazy. I chickened out, there's no other word! __F__rom now on, are __we condemned to talk only about the weather?_

"I, uh..." Diego began, vaguely pointing upstairs. "I'll go back there and check that everything is alright with our... uh... our guest."

"Yes," Victoria replied rather abruptly. "Yes, you do that."

He remained there for one more second, looking at her, as if waiting for... well, for a sign from her, a word, _something_, she didn't know what – really? didn't she know? – then he suddenly turned and briskly climbed the stairs without looking back.

Involuntarily, Victoria felt a bit relieved not to be facing him anymore, but she let out a long sigh of frustration at herself. _"I've read Felipe's testimony, now I believe him",_ honestly what would it have cost her to tell him so, other than swallowing her pride a little bit, for once?

That, and also: _"__What are you doing with this woman's personal effects? You certainly don't mean to get her changed yourself?"_

Hmm… no, she thought, not this. Not that she was not curious to know, but given the very recently… fissured… state of their friendship, it didn't seem judicious. Not right now, anyway.

Sighing, she returned to her counter.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

One change of clothes, a purse, a long white shirt for the night – pretty refined embroidery, a slightly blushing Diego noted against his better judgment – a flowery shawl, some... uh... some very personal small garments – that Diego hastily put aside without taking too close a look – a hairbrush, some crushed biscuits, a rosary, a book... and that was it.

This woman certainly knew about travelling light. And useful. The hallmark of a practical mind, he reflected.

Except for the fact that there was no trace of a weapon of any sort, not even a knife. Practical, but hardly cautious, was this solitary traveler...

Diego took a closer look at the rosary: green and blue, the _Paters_ and _Glorias_ made of lapis lazuli, the _Aves_ of malachite, it was by far the most valuable item of all what she was travelling with. Family heirloom? On the reverse of the small central medallion where hung the last beads and the crucifix was engraved a dedication to Santa Maria de la Luz.

Some of the clothes were not marked at all, and the others were just marked with the same initials, L and A, as the handkerchief was. Ah! The nightshirt was embroidered at the back of its collar with a longer series of initials: M.L.S.I.A.V.S.G.P.

Long, but not very telling.

The biscuits were wrapped in a handkerchief. _M.L.A.P._ Her initials, somewhat more detailed than on the other one? Anyhow, this told him nothing more useful about her.

Diego gave a look at the book, and was a bit surprised when he recognizing the title: _Cartas eruditas y curiosas_, by Benito Jerónimo Feijóo; the fifth volume.

He was about to lay it back on the bedside table when he noticed some piece of paper stick out of it. Curious, and although it wasn't any of his business, he grabbed the corner of the sheet and pulled it out of the pages that held it.

The sheet of paper was folded in four, and was covered with a rounded handwriting. Diego unfolded it and clearly saw that it was a letter. Immediately he looked at the bottom for the signature: it was from _Padre_ Benitez!

More and more curious, and appeasing his guilty conscience by telling himself he was doing this only in order to identify the stranger, he began to read it.

_Dear daughter, _

_It is with __great pleasure that I received your reply, showing the interest that awakened in you the request I had passed on in the various Californian missions and parishes in which I happen to have some contact._

_As you __shall see, our pueblo is quite modest in size, much smaller than the cities and towns you've lived in up to now, if I go by what you wrote in your letter. People here are mainly __peónes__, sometimes illiterate, but there are also some families of merchants, shopkeepers, rancheros and landowners._

_And to answer __the question you raised in your letter, the size of our pueblo and the small number of children attending the mission school make so that they are all together and we don't plan to separate the instruction dispensed to girls from that given to boys._

_Admittedly, the arrival of an __extra teacher in the mission will allow us to separate the pupils, but I was thinking more along the lines of doing so with regard to their age or level, so that the teaching could better fit each the pupil's needs, according to what he already knows and what he still has to learn._

_I would __gladly see you and show you our mission and our pueblo if despite the distance you'd like to get an idea for yourself and to discuss in person all of this or even more. All you will have to do is to show up at the mission or the church, and ask for me._

_If you are still interested, __let me wish you a pleasant and peaceful journey from Monterey._

_Dominus tecum, mea filia, et i in pace._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Padre __Benitez, humilis peccator_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Too bad the _padre_ was gone and would not return until the following day! He would probably have been able to tell them more about that woman's identity, as well as where she was coming from and even her address, and therefore they could have known who they needed to inform of her current condition! According to the letter, Los Angeles was indeed where she was heading to, and her trip seemed to have something to do with the mission and the school. _An extra__ teacher_, the _padre_ had written...

Meanwhile, all this did still not resolve Felipe's situation...

The patient's condition seemed to be stable. Not necessarily very reassuring, but stable. At least her condition wasn't getting worse.

Currently she appeared to be sleeping almost peacefully, despite her glistening flushed face that could let anyone guess she was suffering from fever. Her body was fighting infection or venom, or both. In order to take a look at the state of her wound, Diego lowered the bedsheet down to her knees and folded her nightshirt up, baring the lower half of her right thigh.

The cut was still there of course, reddened, swollen, oozing. But not suppurating, that was at least something.

Diego soaked a cloth with the herbal infusion he was making her drink from time to time, when she could swallow something, that is to say when she was on the verge of waking up or getting into a fit of delirium, and he gently dabbed the wound with it. He then laid the cloth onto it to let the healing herbs work.

Half an hour later, he removed the cloth and dipped another clean towel in the same mixture of salt water and alcohol as the doctor previously used to clean the wound. Again he dabbed repeatedly to disinfect it, but instead of letting the cloth applied to the cut he let the wound exposed to air, without pulling either her nightshirt or the bedsheet back in place. And prudishness be damned! Her recovery was what mattered most to Diego.

Still keeping watch on her condition, he observed her a bit more closely. Indeed, she didn't have the rough hands of a peón, he had already noticed as much. Didn't have the tanned complexion of those who spent their days outdoors, but neither did she sport the refined pallor cultivated in the Madrilenian salons he used to frequent in his youth.

There, as she lay on the bed, seized with fever, her face damp and glistening, her features drawn by the fatigue of her condition, and her hair down, spread on the pillow and stuck together with sweat and dust, it was difficult to guess how old she could be. Except that she was quite certainly younger than he was himself. But other than that... Victoria's age, perhaps? Older than Felipe, anyway. She was an adult. Not that Felipe was not nearly one now, but still… to Diego he would ever be the little boy he took in and fostered… That's the way parents are.

So, older than Felipe and younger than himself, that was about all he could assess.

Not wanting to let anyone believe – or rather _guess_ – that he had been rummaging through her things, Diego began to put all the personal belongings he had taken out back in the saddle bag. He quickly picked up her small intimate garments and stuffed them into the bag, then he folded the spare clothes, laid the book over it, rewrapped the biscuits in the handkerchief and, so that the rosary would not get lost a midst all this, he came up with the idea of putting it in the purse.

Having loosened its strings, he saw that in addition to the coins he had expected to find inside was also a small oblong leather case. Too small to contain a weapon.

Already quite sure of what he would find in there, Diego opened it and saw a pair of eye spectacles with oval lenses and thin wire rims, equipped with straight arms designed to rest on the ears.

So, she was he little bit weak-eyed? Diego tried them on: indeed things actually appeared a bit blurry to him through these and he almost got tears in his eyes, but it was still very bearable: the correction probably wasn't too strong.

Putting her things back in her saddlebag, he took another glance at their owner: she appeared to be still very quiet and showed no signs either of awakening – unfortunately – or of impending fit of delirium, so Diego decided to make the most of it and go visit Felipe in his cell.

After a last glance at the woman he left the room and went downstairs.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

The daily activity had resumed in the tavern and Victoria was dragging her feet from table to table, stifling her yawns and trying not to spill or knock anything over. She still had not recovered from her shortened night, her siesta having been disturbed by the thought of Felipe moping in his cell and her tiff with Don Diego.

Speaking of the devil… The latter was precisely going down the stairs. Avoiding eye contact with him, she turned to the entrance. Well, decidedly, she was surrounded by de la Vegas: Don Alejandro had just entered her tavern.

"I've just seen Felipe," she heard him tell his son. "His spirits are not exactly very high," he added.

_Poor Felipe, Victoria sighed inwardly. Still not too proud of herself, she tried to smother her guilty conscience and to redeem herself to her own eye by thinking about sending him some snack to improve the meagre and bland garrison's staple diet._

She slipped inside her kitchen just when Don Diego was answering his father:

"I'm about to go visit him myself. She's still unconscious."

No need to wonder about this _'she'_, Victoria knew exactly who he was referring to.

Grabbing a wicker basket she laid a clean cloth inside and stuffed some fruits, three slices of cured ham, a boiled egg, two quesadillas and a portion of cuajada custard.

When she went back to the main room Don Alejandro was going upstairs and Don Diego was watching him climb the stairs.

_C'mon, chin up,_ Victoria urged herself, _I have to__ go and talk to him_. A fine intention indeed, yet she remained rooted to the spot near the counter, a remnant of little cowardice apparently preventing her from getting her feet into action.

But Don Diego was already turning toward the exit and about to start walking out.

_C'mon__!_ This time Victoria found the courage to cross the few steps that were keeping them apart and, doing her best to make it look fortuitous, she nevertheless stood rooted in his way.

Stopping short before bumping into her, he lowered a rather surprised and questioning look on her.

_I absolutely must find something__ to say_... Victoria thought, _quick!_

"I... uh... So, how's your patient?" she finally asked.

Which was a very pointless question of course, not that she was totally indifferent to the señorita's fate, but in fact she had just heard him tell his father there was no change, nothing new. But at least this allowed her to re-engage the conversation without directly broaching the regrets she knew she would have to formulate but had decidedly quite some trouble getting out of her mouth.

"Still the same," he let out, more laconic than ever.

_Pfff_, Victoria sighed, _he has still not warmed up to me._

"I see..." she replied, not finding anything better to reply.

Another awkward silence.

Diego, on his part, wasn't feeling much better-at-ease. A whirl of mingled and warring emotions, each one as unpleasant as the others, was twirling inside him right now. Worry, annoyance, embarrassment, irritation, weariness, frustration, bitterness, and a remnant of resentment too...

And that awkward silence between them was not helping, in this moment when more than ever he needed moral support from his friends. And especially from the woman he loved.

She doubted Felipe. Mistrusted him. All these years long, Diego had been able to accept his own feelings for her, to accept to hide them, to accept the role of the ever loyal friend, to accept that she'd offer him, Diego, nothing else than a friendly affection; to accept the idea that plainly enough she couldn't love the man behind the mask. _From_ her as well as _for_ her, he had accepted almost everything.

Everything, with regard to himself. But with regard to the one he already considered his son... That she was not in love with him was one thing, but that she could think even one second that Felipe...

Did she know them both so little?

Yet she was there, right in front of him, and was speaking to him. At least that was something. And he couldn't come up with anything better to answer her than three simple little words, not even a complete sentence?

In his mind, resentment on the one hand and desire to be conciliatory on the other hand were still warring when he forced himself to break the awkward silence that had settled between them. But what could he tell her, which would sound neither like a reproach nor like an abdication, like the admission of a fault he did not acknowledge?

"I…" he started before stopping, pointing to the exit. "I'll go and see Felipe. He certainly needs..."

He did not say what exactly, but that didn't matter. Victoria got the gist. He needed some company, he needed his spirits to be lifted, he needed his mind to be taken off things.

He needed to see someone who believed in him.

He needed his father.

He needed to know that some people thought he was innocent. _Knew_ he was innocent.

Victoria stared at her shoes, then she looked up and handed Diego the handle of the basket she was holding.

"I prepared... I thought... He... perhaps a little snack..."

He stared at her, a little surprised. And seeing in Diego's eyes this surprise at a goodwill gesture from her almost made her hurt.

"Well..." she went on, "I thought it would perhaps please him? Would cheer him up a bit?"

Diego still stared at her for a moment, almost... doubtful? _No,_ she thought, _just surprised_.

"A peace offering?"

He had meant to say it in a mellowed tone of voice, acknowledging the step she was taking towards him – or rather towards Felipe? – and had even tried to slip in a small smile, his own peace offering. But then why did it come out in this bitter, almost crusty tone, sounding like irony? Almost like an accusation, a reproach? And why did the benevolent smile he intended to give her turn out to look like… a snide smirk?

_Brilliant!_ he then reflected bitterly. Not only was he annoyed with the world in general since the day before and on rather cool terms with Victoria in particular since the morning, but also he now was quite displeased with himself!

Victoria for her part was visibly affected, and stared down at the basket she had envisioned as an olive branch between Don Diego and herself, without daring raise her eyes.

He could see that he had obviously hurt her, and immediately regretted his slightly too sharp retort.

But soon Victoria's equally feisty temperament resurfaced and burst the bubble of guilty conscience and self-disappointment that had contained it theretofore. How dare he brush aside her token of goodwill like that?

She was about to let out some strongly-worded retort and looked up at Diego to stare at him right in the eyes when she saw in them the usual gentleness she nevertheless wasn't expecting to find there at that moment. A hint of a conciliatory smile was playing under his moustache and he finally laid his hand on the basket handle, next to Victoria's.

The surprise she felt at this sudden change stopped short the rant she was about to serve him.

But soon, Diego's expression changed again. Seeming to change his mind he quickly withdrew his hand from the handle and his features became once more neutral. He looked away to the door, pursed his lips a bit, and cleared his throat as if embarrassed.

He then seemed to make up his mind and suggested:

"What if you come and bring it to him yourself? He will certainly be glad to know that you think of him..."

_I take a step__, he takes a step... _Victoria thought. Appreciating this sort of 'outstretched hand' from him to the full, Victoria accepted it and followed him, relieved that although neither of them had made any apology or admitted their faults, their friendship seemed to be willing to take the (slow) path of mending and reconciliation.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Don Alejandro had been right. Sitting on his bunk, bent forward with his back hunched, his head in his hands, Felipe did not really look like the epitome of hope and confidence in the future, to say the least.

However this seemed to change as soon as he saw Diego, Victoria noticed. He had probably seen some movement out of the corner of his eye because when they entered he raised his head and looked at them to see who was coming in.

The moment he recognised Diego, Victoria could have sworn that something just lighted up in Felipe's eyes. Granted he remained seated, but he straightened his back and shoulders somewhat, the weight of whatever seemed to bear down on these suddenly appearing to be slightly less heavy, less crushing. As if through his mere presence here, Diego was taking some of it on himself? Was helping him carry it, helping him bear it?

Sure enough, since the morning Victoria had noticed the invisible burden weighing upon Don Diego, smothering his usual joviality and carefree attitude. As though within the space of one day he had changed, had been transformed. Undeniably, with this story his transition to his new role as a father was unfolding in a rather harsh context.

Now, if she had expected that for a while things would be a bit… awkward… between the two of them, each one trying to find his footing and groping for his new role regarding the other and in the meantime not quite knowing where they stood, she however couldn't fail to notice that it was obviously not the case. Felipe was looking at Diego as if he held the solution to every problem – and particularly to the one that worried him at this precise moment – and it was very naturally that he had sought and found his eyes, seeming to instantly calm down somewhat.

Then he got up and got closer to the bars when Diego reached the railings of his cell. Without uttering a word, the two men joined their hands through the bars, Diego's large hands wrapping Felipe's in a protective gesture. Fatherly, already.

He still hadn't uttered a word, but after all was it necessary? They were gazing intently at each other, and so much seemed to pass through these two looks that Victoria felt confusedly in the way, like an outsider witnessing a private, intimate family scene. And for that matter, she remained discreetly in the background.

Of course she already knew that Felipe could express himself through signs, but never before had she realised that he could also do it without any gesture, without speaking, without even moving. Nor that Diego was capable of it too.

And even less that they could both 'read' such a silent and motionless language in someone else. And what exactly were Felipe and Diego able to read in other people's eyes, then? In _her_ own eyes? But, by doing so, weren't they 'undressing' the others a bit, in a certain way, without their knowledge nor their full consent?

Those two seemed to come out of their silent conversation when Felipe turned his gaze on Victoria, seemingly noticing her only then. He looked at her, the beginning of a sad smile blooming on his lips, and greeted her with a slight nod.

Releasing his hands, Diego told him:

"Victoria insisted on bringing you something to eat. Her cooking is far better tasting than that of the garrison's canteen…"

While saying this, Diego half turned toward her, slightly unblocking the way to the cell as a silent invitation for her to get closer.

She did so with a hint of hesitation, and handed Felipe the basket handle. But of course the bars were too narrowly spaced for the basket to pass through the railings.

"We will ask Sergeant Mendoza to give it to you," Diego told him.

A small and uncertain smile played on Victoria's lips, who didn't know what to tell Felipe given the circumstances, given her own awkwardness towards Diego and her shame concerning all that he didn't tell Felipe about. To spare _him_, of course, but thereby sparing _herself_ too.

Felipe was looking at her, with gratitude, with a bit of joy in the midst of this ocean of worry spread in his eyes, with... relief? He laid his hands on hers and squeezed them slightly.

Victoria, as for her, was still niggled at by her guilty conscience for having not immediately believed in her young friend's innocence. But now, facing him and his intense and acute gaze, she had no doubt left. Which further increased her own feelings of retrospective guilt and discomfort at seeing such a trust in the young man's eyes.

A shadow then probably passed in her own look, as Felipe's appeared to turn a little cloudy, a slight mist of uncertainty seeming to float in the depths of his eyes. Did he thus always see everything? Was he able to see up to the depths of her soul, to guess what she was feeling, what she was thinking? What she _had_ thought?

This idea made her quite uncomfortable. Had Felipe always been this observant? She had never thought about it, but now she felt that almost nothing seemed to escape him, to escape this discreet but searching gaze. Had it always been so? Undoubtedly a consequence of not being able to hear, of having to rely only on what he saw to understand the world around him, the people around him.

She had never really thought about it, but what if rather than having one sense fewer, Felipe had actually one sense _more_ than ordinary people?

Thinking back at what she was trying to conceal from Felipe – for his own good, she tried to convince herself of that – a very slight shudder ran through her at the idea that he could guess it. A shudder that of course did not escape the young man's perceptiveness. He peered at her even more intensely, a jot of questioning in his eyes.

And of course, she stiffened even more and the smile she wanted to offer him to cover her discomfort was a bit strained, which resulted in an increase of Felipe's suspicion.

Diego seemed to sense – or see? or understand? – what was going on and he took Victoria's place near his son, trying all at once to divert his attention from her and perhaps also to serve as a "shield" to protect her from the young man's decidedly disturbing perceptiveness. For which she was grateful to Diego.

She put the basket on the floor.

"You'll see," Diego told Felipe, nodding his head toward the basket, "I'm sure Victoria's cooking will bring back a smile on these lips."

While saying this, he pointed a mischievous finger at his son's face while forcing a smile on his own, then he grasped his hands once again through the bars.

But Felipe's face was wearing again the dejected expression he had when they came in, and which his whole body reflected. His shoulders slumped, his back hunched slightly, his look faded and died out; then, removing one hand from his father's gentle grasp he gestured vaguely toward the basket on the ground, adding to this an almost imperceptible shake of his head and a brief frown.

"You have to eat, Felipe!" Diego gently admonished him.

Victoria didn't know whether he had just said that he was not hungry or that he did not want her basket – which would have hurt her more, but wouldn't have been totally undeserved – yet she got the gist of it. And agreed with Diego, he should not let himself waste away. And anyway, good food was a real morale boost... eating whets the appetite, they say.

"Promise me you'll eat something," Diego insisted, pointing to the basket. "Victoria is worried about you, about your well-being. And so is Father."

Felipe looked at Victoria with a mix of questioning and gratitude in his eyes, but then he gave a pretty weary and disheartened shrug, after what he went back to his bunk and sat down – or rather slumped – onto it.

"Felipe, you must not give up hope!" Victoria finally stepped into the conversation. "Nothing is lost…"

Was she trying to convince herself? Things were looking pretty bad for him, unless the stranger finally regained consciousness. And indeed, hadn't Victoria herself... She shook her head slightly to get this oh-so unpleasant thought out of her mind.

Felipe signed a quick question that Victoria didn't understand but which meaning Diego grasped apparently perfectly.

"Nothing new so far," he replied. "But her condition does not worsen. I'm confident."

He accompanied this answer with a slightly strained smile, a bit forced. To Victoria, who had seen his concern of these past hours, it was obvious that Diego was mostly trying to reassure Felipe, or at least not to aggravate his anxiety.

"And Victoria is right," Diego went on, "nothing is lost. I'm confident," he repeated as if to convince himself. "The alcalde has decided to be more careful and measured this time. An official preliminary inquiry in being set up and the case is still currently under examination. He seems to have learned his lesson over José Riva's case as well as Jacinto Santana's, and is willing to take his time before setting a lawsuit and getting legal proceedings in gear. That will give us time to hear what the victim has to say about this incident if– _when_ she wakes up, and also in the meantime to call upon our–"

But Felipe interrupted him with a quite dejected gesture of his arms, along with a weary shake of his head. A sign that Victoria would interpret as "drop it". Obviously he did not believe in it anymore and was on the verge of giving up hope. Don Alejandro had been right, his sprits were very low.

"Felipe..." Diego adjured him.

There was in his voice such a mix of urging, scolding, tenderness, frustration, worry, gentleness… of fatherly love, all in all, that Victoria regretted Felipe couldn't hear it to appreciate all these nuances to the full. The vibrato Diego just had in his voice when he uttered this simple name moved and stirred Victoria to the depths of herself. This man loved his son more than himself, no one could doubt it when hearing this. Even though he hadn't officially become his father yet. Diego had already been loving Felipe in such a fatherly manner for years and would get himself chopped into tiny pieces for him if need be, she was now sure of it.

And she began to envy Diego. Having someone to love to such a point... unconditionally... irrationally... To be transformed by it...

She could not imagine anyone else but Felipe or Don Alejandro for whom Don Diego would come out of his usual stillness, would disrupt his quiet routine, and even risk his life.

And suddenly, without fully understanding why, she started to envy also Felipe and Don Alejandro. Being able to bring about such a change in Diego, and especially such dedication and such self-denial was not given to just anyone, according to the general opinion about him: kind and generous beyond possible but not exactly known for boldly facing adversity and standing up to it, nor for immoderate bravery or a tendency to willingly put himself at risk.

But there, it was plainly obvious that for Felipe, he would throw himself to the lions if it could save him.

She had never seen Don Diego driven by so much passion, so much determination, so much vivacity. Nor by so much energy.

"Felipe…" Diego repeated.

He held out his hands through the bars, as a call accompanying the one he had just spoken aloud but which Felipe couldn't hear, and the latter finally got up and came slowly closer to grasp his father's proffered hands. Again, Diego squeezed Felipe's hands with his own as a sign of the unreserved support he was giving him.

"I promise you that I'll do everything I can to get you out of this. And so will Father. You're not alone. You won't be alone ever again."

Once again, Victoria felt almost amiss. This was a very intimate family scene she was witnessing here, with Don Diego having a heart to heart talk with Felipe, almost baring his soul. And yet he did not seem embarrassed to do so before her. In a way she had always felt that Felipe was the one person in the world with whom Diego talked in the most free and most sincere manner. To whom he opened up the most? Was it because of the boy's silence? Or because he had partly raised him?

Once again, she felt a little touch of envy, even though she couldn't fully explain it. There was however absolutely nothing enviable about Felipe's current position!

"Be patient, Felipe," Diego exhorted him. "I know it's not easy for you to remain locked up in there, not being able to do anything, feeling powerless, but thus far the alcalde has not taken any decision. Which is a rather good thing, after all; so far so good. I assure you we are doing everything we can to get you out of here _lawfully_, through legal channels, and thus restore your honour so that you get it back as unsullied as before."

Letting go of Felipe's hands and slipping his arms through the bars, he encircled his shoulders and hugged him as best he could in spite of the railings between them. From her observation point in the background, Victoria saw Felipe respond in the same way by enfolding Diego in his own arms, hugging him tight like a shipwreck victim clinging to a buoy.

After some very long seconds the two men released their grip on each other but didn't let go completely of the soothing touch, Diego's hands slowly sliding along Felipe's arms.

"But don't worry," he told him slowly, gazing at him right in the eyes. "I'm ready to swear that if things don't unfold as we hope they will, Zorro wouldn't let anything unfortunate happen to you and would risk everything to come to your rescue. He would not allow anyone to touch a hair on your head. Have faith. Zorro will not let you down."

Victoria saw Felipe nod very slowly, his eyes never breaking away from Diego's even for a split second.

_Yes,_ Victoria thought. _Don Diego is right. Zorro will not allow a young man to be wrongfully convicted. _He'd save Felipe.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

They silently walked side by side on the short way back to the tavern. Don Diego had a stony and inscrutable face, as if shutting himself to the rest of the world around him; and Victoria still didn't know what to tell him to melt the thin crust of ice that constantly built up between them at every opportunity, every silence, as soon as it was only the two of them left, without any third party to act either as a pretext for conversation or as a buffer between them.

That was not unlike this layer of frost which in wintry weather forms at the surface of still waters, when there is no ripple.

She ventured a sidelong glance to watch Don Diego out of the corner of her eye. But what she saw on his face was not a visage anymore, it was a mask. Static, fixed, nothing transpiring from it: it was impossible to tell what expression it sported.

He was probably still resenting her a little bit, but mostly he refused to let show his deep worry over Felipe: despite the reassuring words Diego had told the young man, Victoria knew that if the still anonymous traveller did never regain consciousness, if ever her fever worsened and got the better of her physical resistance, it would not be that easy to prove Felipe's innocence. And as, to top it all, he would also have to answer for a charge of homicide...

Victoria winced. She had to find a more pleasant idea to wipe this one from her mind.

Her thoughts went back to Felipe, to his lucky star which had put Don Diego on his path more than ten years ago. When he had just discovered horror, violence, war, as well as the loss of his parents and of all that had been his world so far. Sometimes a light comes on and shines in the darkest of night and despair...

Don Diego loved Felipe beyond possible, and was forcing himself to be strong for him, not to let anything show. This commanded admiration, especially coming from a man who was usually not particularly renowned for his strength of character. It was all about motivation, apparently. A matter of finding the right stimulus. Diego's strength was perhaps just lying deeper than everyone thought, but perhaps was it also all the more forceful and determined since it was concealed and quiet, almost lying low.

Not for a single moment he had doubted. Herself, on the other hand... She still had a little trouble fully forgiving him the cold outburst and the hint of condescension he had aimed at her a just few hours ago, but she could understand that for his part he still resented her for having a more wavering trust in Felipe than he had himself.

Damn, why on earth was it so hard for her to offer a sincere apology? To say it aloud? She was not used to openly acknowledge her faults to someone she had wronged. The words had decidedly quite some trouble forming in her mouth and remained stuck at the early stage of a mere idea. Perhaps he'd manage to read her mind so that she wouldn't have to go through the painful stage of the _mea culpa_?

Or instead of due apologies, maybe some kind word would smooth the rough edges somewhat, for a start?

"Felipe is really lucky to have you," she finally said to start the conversation.

He slowed his steps, looking thoughtful. His face changed, she saw him muse on what she had just said, then a faraway look clouded his eyes, as if he was looking at something inwardly, in his mind or his memories ; he finally replied:

"No, _I_ am lucky to have him. You cannot imagine how much. He is... the best thing that life has given me."

He paused a moment while he stopped walking and stood still, then he finally looked at her in the eyes.

"Do you believe in Divine Providence, Victoria?"

She didn't know what to answer. Did she believe in it?

"Sometimes It hides in the most understated recesses, in the most discreet crannies," he said, "and sometimes in circumstances that yet would seem the furthest from what might make us think about It. When everything goes wrong, when you think that all is lost, that nothing will ever be right again... When It crossed my path I've not been able to recognise It, as anxious as I was to find someone to whom handing over this little boy I had just found on the remains of a battlefield. I was mourning my uncle, I was discovering the horrors of war, and Felipe for his part had just lost his father, his mother, his hearing and his speech within a few minutes two days before. Not the best circumstances to rejoice over meeting a new face, over sheer happenchance. Nor to acknowledge that this happenchance might not be one, after all."

He paused, his eyes staring so far away into space that Victoria could have sworn he was actually reliving this scene.

"Even when I finally brought Felipe back here with me I didn't any more recognised that Providence which most definitely knows how to hide. To me then, it had still been sheer chance. Serendipity, a _lucky_ coincidence, but a coincidence all the same... Only a few years ago did I understand. I think sometimes Providence hides in order not to frighten us. If back then I had known that, by deciding to take with me this lost, deaf, mute and terrified little boy I was going to become a father, the very young man I was then might have taken to his heels. I would have left him in the first orphanage I happened to find and would have carried on in my own merry way and with my life as it was before. And that would have been the biggest mistake of my life..."

It was so rare to hear Don Diego truly open up that Victoria didn't dare interrupt.

"It would have been the biggest mistake of my life, the biggest failure, the worst waste for me, and today I wouldn't even know anything about it. That's the saddest thing, all in all: missing something by a hair's breadth and never knowing about that. Thankfully I didn't miss Felipe out. Perhaps that's what Providence is... God incognito, sneaking among us to improve one's life and make it better..."

"God with a mask?" Victoria asked with a smile. "I wonder what Padre Benitez would think of your interpretation."

"I'll make sure to ask him..." Diego replied thoughtfully. "But yes, you're right: chance is perhaps God's mask..."

Never before had she had this kind of discussion with Don Diego. She was beginning to understand why he had so loved attending salons and other circles of thinkers and brilliant minds back then in Spain. It felt... stimulating. And he surely missed it. But anyway, if _he_ seemed to easily discourse on these topics, Victoria, as for her, felt she was reaching her own limitations in that matter and was afraid she couldn't measure up to him if he steered the discussion and these abstract notions further and higher.

Another reason why he was so fond of Felipe? Was the boy able to follow him up to these... 'heights of mind', despite his deafness and muteness?

Victoria felt a little frustrated, although Don Diego did nothing to make her feel inferior nor patronised her. He was obviously a superior and very cultured mind, and yet he didn't flaunt it, his mild and reserved – even a bit… _tepid?_ – nature making him prefer discretion to ostentation. Decidedly, the woman who would manage to put a ring on it – if indeed such a woman did exist – would be very lucky and have gained a true treasure.

Now what of that woman he had once briefly talked about – or rather _mentioned_... The one he loved – or at least _had_ loved, he'd never talked again about her since then – in secret without ever daring to declare his burning affections... Surely she was up to him, was his match in matters of the mind...

Anyway, if ever this mysterious woman was now ancient history to Diego, it would certainly take a woman of that kind to make his heart beat faster. With him, heart was probably closely related to brains.

Such a woman, if only she existed, would indeed be very lucky, Victoria reflected.

But enough digression and rambling about Don Diego's very hypothetical love life: what concerned her was his friendship. _Their_ friendship. And after that substantive little discussion, it seemed to be on a better track, on the path of healing. It was indeed like an open wound covered with a scab, the flesh was perhaps still raw underneath, it pricked and tugged a little at the skin, but at least the wound had stopped bleeding and the itching was a sign that the skin was working to rebuild itself. If nothing too brisk were to happen, Victoria was now confident that their friendship would gradually heal.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Don Alejandro had gone home. Diego, as for him, was about to spend a second night without getting any sleep. So, since he wouldn't sleep at all, he may as well enable Victoria to do so. After all, this stranger was nothing to her, and Felipe was a young man of her acquaintance, but not a relative of hers! So yes, it was _his_ duty, _his_ responsibility to watch over Felipe's best interests, and therefore to see to this woman's recovery.

And here's why he found himself here, sitting at the patient's bedside in the middle of the night, or going back and forth from her bed to the window where he could see the stars and the crescent moon. The same stars and the same moon Felipe was probably seeing too at the same moment if, as Diego feared, he wasn't sleeping either...

He took out his pocket watch from his waistcoat and went back to the bedside table on which a tallow candle was lit. In the flickering light of the flame he could read the time: almost half past one. Not a sound outside. Neither inside. The tavern was plunged into quietness. Next room, right on the other side of the wall he was standing so close to, Victoria was probably peacefully sleeping.

_Ahem_... Diego cleared his throat. Better not think about Victoria in her bed just a few feet away from him... just behind that wall...

At this thought and while he was totally unaware of it, he had softly put his hand flat against the wall he was now facing, as if picturing in his mind's eye what there was to see through it... Realising this, he quickly withdrew his hand, as if the wall was burning hot. He turned back to the stranger's bed and his eyes settled on the armchair Victoria had brought for him, so that he'd be almost comfortable while he watched over the patient.

He had a grateful thought for her, especially as she had improved it with a few extra cushions and blankets to soften his posture, while herself had spent the previous night sitting on a mere wooden chair.

As he sat back down and resumed reading the book he had brought with him to kill time and prevent himself from sleeping, the stranger – this mysterious L.A. – began to grow restless. It started with a few low moans of discomfort that Diego tried to alleviate by dabbing her forehead with a cloth dipped in cool water.

After a quarter of an hour she seemed to calm down, but the respite was short-lived. After a few minutes of quiet, the moans resumed, a bit stronger, a bit more uncomfortable. Her features tensed and she began to toss and turn from side to side in her bed.

Diego shook her gently to try to wake her up, then a bit more vigorously, but to no avail: she got even more agitated, seemingly struggling both against what was currently occupying her unconscious mind, whatever it was, and now against Diego.

— Nnnn… Nnnnno! she let out weakly.

Pressing his hands against her shoulders Diego pinned her gently but firmly, but she kept unconsciously shaking her head on the pillow, keeping mumbling some faint 'no' to an invisible interlocutor against whom he could neither fight nor defend her, for the simple reason that this unknown enemy wasn't physically in the room but only in her unconscious mind.

"Señorita," Diego called trying to wake her, "Señorita!"

But she remained unconscious, merely calming down a bit. After all, perhaps the presence of someone at her side and a voice trying to break through the mists of her nightmare had some soothing effect on her?

Now that she was a little less restless, Diego could lay his hand flat on her forehead: it was still warm and sweaty, but the fever didn't seem to have worsened.

Diego then thought that, even if there was no reason she'd understand what people would be telling her right now, he had to try. After all, even if it didn't do any good in the end, it wouldn't hurt either! And all this silence was beginning to weigh down on him.

"Señorita, please, come back to us!" he tried. "A young man is in great need of your help. He's counting on you. _I_ am counting on you."

She didn't react.

"And your kith and kin... Think of those who love you and whom you love... Hold onto this, I beg you!"

Still no reaction.

After a quarter of an hour and two chapters of his book, Diego's reading was disturbed by... he pricked up his ears... by... yes, that was really what it was! Very light snores!

He looked up from his book to settle his eyes on the woman: yes, the faint snoring sound was right in step with her breathing, with the rhythm at which the blankets were rising and falling over her chest. He could even see that her lips were slightly parted on the left. She seemed to be sound asleep, but peacefully so.

He arched his eyebrows: snores! Not very ladylike…

Stupidly enough, he then reflected, never before had he imagined that women too could snore sometimes… especially when sick.

Smiling at his own ingenuousness, he turned his attention back to his book.

One hour later, she started to grow restless and to mumble in her sleep again. Her current nightmare did not seem any more pleasant than the previous one, quite the contrary:

"Nnnn... Wha're you… Let g'of–"

While Diego was wringing out the wet cloth he was about to lay back on her forehead, she mumbled again:

"Nnnn… Don' shoot'..."

_Shoot__?_ Diego suspended his gesture. Or wasn't it rather _shout?_ But what on earth was she dreaming about?

He mopped and dabbed her face once again to cool her down, after what, satisfied to see her calm down, he sat back in his chair. It seemed to him that her forehead was a little less hot, her cheeks a little less red. But wasn't it just because the water was cool and the candlelight was dimming through a weakening of the flame?

Ensconced in his armchair he resumed his reading, lulled and reassured by the rhythm of his patient's still heavy but more regular breathing.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

_Oww...__ Ouch... Gnnn ... What's that light?_

Grrr... had someone opened the curtains? But who? Or had she forgotten to close them when she went to bed?

In any case, she felt the bright morning light assault her eyes through her closed eyelids. And just that little bit of brightness was apparently enough to give her a throbbing headache.

Oww... why was she having so much trouble opening her eyes?

And then there was her shoulder... her left shoulder felt very painful...

She tried to turn her head away from the source of this bothersome light to shield her eyes from it and sleep a little longer, but to no avail.

And... how strange! Wasn't usually her bedroom window on the other side of the bed? So where did this light come from?

Pfff, really, she wasn't very clear-minded this morning. Headache, confusion... and yet she had not overdone the bottle the night before... from what little she remembered, anyway.

By the way, what exactly did she remember?

Her last memory... She searched her mind, racked her brains, dug, insisted...

It was a blur. Anyway, she now had to get up, there was much to do today. And a trip... yes, that's right, a trip to prepare. Los Angeles. The mission priest's invitation. Things still seemed blurry, but a little less so.

Well, well, enough with idly lying in, she had to get up. If the daylight was that bright, then it was probably already quite late in the morning, and she was certainly late herself. If only her head could throb a little less!

Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes. Gradually, she grew accustomed to the light suffusing the room.

She then turned her head to the left.

Goodness! There was a man in her bedroom. And in an armchair at that, not in her bed. But more importantly: an _unknown_ man in her room! He was asleep, his mouth half-open…

She set her eyes on her surroundings. _Oh..._ she then thought. Correction: _not_ her bedroom.

Hence the window on the wrong side, at least some things were beginning to make sense.

She turned her attention back to the unknown Sleeping Beauty: slumped in an armchair next to her bed, with his head hanging to the right side – he would have a sore neck when he awakes, for sure! – and his legs uncomfortably half-stretched out as best as he could, the poor man seemed far too tall to be sleeping in a chair.

Anyway, the stranger was still asleep. And, she then noticed, he was even snoring! Not very loudly, she reckoned – otherwise she would have woken up much earlier, she had a very low tolerance to snores – but still! And to top it off, she noted not without some amusement that a slight trickle of drool was running from the corner of his mouth and was creating a damp patch on his blue jacket.

Well-made fine clothes, she noticed. He looked well-groomed and rather dapper. Mid-thirties, perhaps? Yes, probably.

But when it came down to it, _who he was_ was for now just a detail. No, for now the real question was: _where was she?_

Oh, and also: _how__ did she get there?_ Well, _he_ would certainly have the answer to that question. Slowly, carefully, she got her right arm out from under her blankets and reached out to the man. Rather tentatively at first, she patted his knee in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber. Seeing that it proved ineffective, she made her tapping motion a bit more insistent.

Meanwhile, now that she was more awake the haze of sleepiness was lifting, and some things began to become clearer and to come back to her mind. Los Angeles, the trip... she wasn't home anymore, she had already left for her trip and had even travelled a good deal of the way.

Yet she did not remember arriving. Was she even in Los Angeles?

But what was this place? this bedroom?

How did she get there?

Who was this man beside her?

Oh, and... now that the headache was subsiding a bit... why was her left shoulder hurting that much? And her right thigh?

At this thought, snippets of memories came back to her mind. Pictures, mainly.

A young man... A knife... A scorpion... A fall from a horse... the knife in the young man's hand... his hands on her shoulder... sharp pain... venom... pain... oh _Dios__!_

She shook the man's knee with renewed vigour. Who was he? Where was she? How did she get there? What was the extent of her injuries? She had questions, he would have answers.

Or so she hoped.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_Gnnnn..._ what was that? _Hmph..._ what the...?

Diego confusedly felt that something was repeatedly nudging his knee.

A dog nuzzling him? His mare Esperanza claiming some petting or a bit of attention? Or was it Tornado?

_Grrrr..._ Whatever it was, this was becoming insistent. Had Felipe not taken care of Tornado?

This thought seemed to awaken something in his dozing mind... Tornado...? No. No… So what...?

_Felipe__!_

Of course, Felipe!

Diego finally opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times to get used to the light, though he had his back to the window, and after a second to focus his eyesight, he made out an anxious face in front of him, an arm reaching to him, and attached to this arm, a white hand that was rather vigorously shaking his knee.

He started: everything came back to his mind.

_Awake__!_ She was awake! Finally!

He opened his mouth to speak to her – to enquire about her condition, ask her name, ask her to tell him her story, he didn't know exactly what he was going to say – when in a low and raspy voice, she got ahead of him:

"Ah, well, about time!" she exclaimed somewhat laboriously.

Not understanding immediately what she meant, Diego remained dumbfounded for a moment. She then went on:

"Do you know for how…"

She paused to clear her throat, she seemed to be hoarse and had trouble controlling this voice that, after a last scream somewhere by the side of the Camino Real, had not been used for two whole days.

"...how long I've been trying to wake you up?" she finished.

Diego couldn't help but note the unintentional irony of her comment, given the circumstances. He finally gathered his wits to answer her tit for tat:

"I could say as much about you, Señorita!"

She looked around, discovering again the room she was in.

"What's this place, Señor? Señor...? "

Realising that she didn't even know how to call this man she paused, voluntarily putting a very obvious question mark in her voice.

"De la Vega," Diego provided, immediately understanding her unspoken query. "If you're wondering about this particular room, right now we are in one of the bedrooms of this pueblo's tavern. But as your question probably refers more generally to the pueblo itself, well, you're here in Los Ángeles."

He paused to let her absorb these bits of information, which she appeared to be doing thoughtfully.

"Los Ángeles …" she repeated in an undertone to herself, frowning and looking pensive.

This was all well and good, but Diego had only one thought in mind: Felipe. What exactly did this woman remember? What would she be able to relate and report to de Soto? And when would she be able to do so?

"Señorita..." Diego then resumed speaking, not knowing how to bring the subject without appearing to be either too rude or too insensitive, "how are you feeling? You gave us quite a fright!"

"I..." she closed her eyes as if to shut out or at least dim the bright morning light. "Hurts..." she went on. "My shoulder hurts. And my leg. My head a little too. A bit tired."

She was speaking in snippets of sentence. Her mind seemed to be having some trouble stringing two or three coherent thoughts together.

"Allow me..." Diego said while placing his hand on the young woman's forehead without waiting for said permission to do so.

Her fever seemed to have faded out.

"You've been unconscious for quite some time," he explained apologetically as if to justify such an incongruous familiarity. "You were delirious, feverish, we were unable to wake you up. We were worried about you."

_And not just_ _about you,_ he thought, keeping it to himself.

"I…" the woman began, then she paused.

Suddenly, as if completely awakened by an idea that Diego didn't immediately get, she quickly sat bolt upright in her bed, and then with a sudden movement she folded her blankets down to below her knees. Decency would have demanded that Diego should turn or at least look away, but the quickness of her gesture didn't give him time to do so.

The young woman looked at her right thigh, or rather stared at the wound spread across it.

"I've been stung by a scorpion," she remembered, her eyes fixed on the reddish mark that contrasted so much with the white of her skin in this very intimate area.

"I know," Diego replied, filled with awakening hope when he noted that her memory seemed to come back to her mind and to confirm Felipe's account. "Rest assured, your body seems to have fought the venom quite well, and infection seems to be now contained and in check."

"Had my thigh not been lacerated, there wouldn't be any infection at all," she grumbled.

_Philistine__!_ Diego sighed inwardly. _Doesn't__ she_ _realise__ Felipe may have saved her life?_ He kept his thoughts to himself: it would be no use antagonising her, quite the contrary. He needed her to recover her complete memory about the events, and to get Felipe out of jail as soon as possible.

"I'm glad you're getting better, Señorita. Señorita...?" he asked, turning to herself the unspoken question she had aimed at him just a minute earlier.

"Oh, yes, please forgive me, the unusual circumstances make me forget about the most common courtesy," the young woman realised. "That's unforgivable of me; really, where are my manners!"

She then introduced herself, politely bowing her head in some sort of upper-body curtsey :

"Luz Alacen," she stated. "I am grateful, Señor de la Vega, for the good care you apparently kindly took of me while I was unconscious."

"Don't mention it, Señorita, that's only natural," Diego said, bending to pick up his book that had fallen to the floor while he was dozing.

He saw señorita Alacen squint at it, trying to decipher its title. _Elementos de__ Orictognosia,_ by Andrés Manuel del Rio. Typically the kind of reading everyone around here considered pointless and boring, Diego sighed inwardly. Well, at least for those who had any idea what this book was dealing with, that is!

"An interest in mineralogy?" he then heard señorita Alacen ask him.

He looked up at her in surprise. To his utter amazement, nodding toward the book she went on:

"It's not anymore what's most exhaustive on the subject, according to what I've heard; but still, it is said to be an excellent book, a reference work, or so I've been told…"

Diego stared at her, dumbfounded, but he quickly recovered. Whatever, after all. What mattered was her testimony. What mattered was first and foremost to exonerate Felipe and clear his name.

"Señorita Alacen, please be kind enough to forgive me if I appear a bit abrupt to you, but can you tell me exactly what you recall of the events that occurred just before you fainted?"

"I..." she answered a little surprised, "…to tell you the truth I had hoped myself that you would be able to tell me how I got to this tavern, which, needless to say, is hardly the kind of establishment I usually patronise."

Diego then felt obliged to stand up for the tavern's reputation, and more particularly for its landlady's through it:

"I can assure you, Señorita, that this establishment is most respectable. It is as much an inn for passing travellers, such as yourself Señorita, as a tavern for us Los Ángelinos seeking a good meal or a refreshment. And there is no other hostelry in the pueblo, nor any other inn where to eat."

Señorita Alacen vaguely felt that her reservations about the reputation of such establishments had somehow hurt her Good Samaritan, and she wondered why. Was this tavern his? Perhaps, after all, as this was where he had watched over her. However, this man had more the appearance, language, diction – and the name! – of a caballero than of a tavern manager.

"Please forgive me if my words hurt you, Señor, I beg you to believe I didn't intend to, far from it. And I should not prejudge what I don't know, this is not a sensible and serious mode of reasoning, one that would be worthy of the name."

"It's already forgotten, don't worry," Diego replied. "And to answer your question, you have indeed been stung by a scorpion while you were riding along the Camino Real, not far from Los Ángeles. You've been brought to the pueblo to get you examined and tended to by our doctor; and since he prescribed rest but opposed to any new journey, albeit short, in view of your weakened condition, we've settled you in the tavern's quietest room. Does this answer your questions?"

Luz nodded.

"Excellent!" Diego said. "Now, again forgive me but I must insist, Señorita: I really need you to tell me your last recollections of the incident..."

The Señorita frowned and then stared into space, seemingly searching her mind.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Frowning, a far-away look in her eyes, looking focused on her memories, señorita Alacen seemed to be fighting the last mists of sleep and blackout in an attempt to mentally go back to the Camino Real, thereby travelling within her own mind.

"The scorpion... the scorpion stung me... Before that... I had fallen… fallen from my horse, that is... My horse!" she suddenly exclaimed.

"It's here too, at the _cuartel_; you can rest assured," Diego told her, hiding his annoyance with this interruption as best as he could.

"But he's been wounded in the leg, he was-"

"Don't worry," Diego interrupted to reassure her seeing she was becoming agitated, "he's been bandaged, tended to, groomed, and the soldiers are taking care of him. I myself have seen him, he's getting better."

Diego, despite his frustration, understood quite well the concern this young woman had for her horse. If Tornado was injured and he couldn't go and see him for himself... Yes, he could understand.

"So," Diego said to steer the conversation back on the track it shouldn't have left, "you fell. And after that...?"

"After that… I remember that I felt much pain, I had fallen on my shoulder. I think my head also hit the ground, but I didn't lose consciousness right then. But then the young man – ah yes, I've forgotten to tell you there was a young man – the young man moved his hands all around, but he said nothing. In retrospect I think he wanted to indicate that he would try to help me, but at the time I didn't understand.

"He is deaf and mute," Diego merely informed her in a neutral voice, not wanting to influence her judgment of him.

"Ah," señorita Alacen simply answered. "The latter therefore explains the former."

This seemed to be a mere piece of information to her, a logical explanation for a phenomenon she had noted, nothing more, whereas to most strangers or newcomers this was what defined Felipe. What he was limited to, what he came down to be in their eyes. 'The deaf-mute', 'the deaf-and-dumb boy'.

"Anyway," she went on, "That's when the scorpion stung me; but seeing that, the young man didn't find anything better than the folk remedy that consists in slashing the bite, thereby spilling the venom throughout the area and mixing it with my blood."

"Yet this is the best way to expel the poison before it had time to take effect..."

"Oh, so you too are a believer in this myth!"

"Myth?" Diego exclaimed.

"Well yes," she explained, "the best course of action in such circumstances is to remain calm, not to thrash about to slow the diffusion of the venom, and _not_ to slash through the bite, to prevent the venom from quickly mixing with the blood; and also to prevent infections of the wound. Because given the state of the knife the young man used after it fell down, the blade covered with dust from the ground, it's a sheer miracle that gangrene didn't set in my leg!"

That was a bit rich, Diego thought to himself. Felipe had helped her, had tended to her wounds, and she was complaining about it! Taking a deep breath, he thanked God for having some extensive experience when it comes to keeping his mouth shut and not replying too sharply, because Felipe needed her help and Diego was well aware that exchanging rather strong words with the only person who could clear his son's name might slow his release.

"Yet it is a well-tried technique that has saved the life of more than one victim," he replied, remembering his own past encounter with a snake.

Involuntarily, he let his gaze wander to his forearm, where under the blue fabric of his jacket and the white cambric of his shirt he knew there was a discreet white scar that testified of his own use of this method.

"Nothing proves that these people would not have recovered, even without it," she replied, "and that's not to mention those who died of it. Recent studies have highlighted the risks, and established for instance that the Californian scorpion's sting was harmless in two thirds of cases; other studies, that when the venom was injected into the muscle its effect was much slower than if it was suddenly mixed with the blood, as well as that slashing the area without any disinfection, without even passing the blade through a flame, entails twice as much risks of developing an infection."

She paused to watch her vis-à-vis, who seemed both sceptical and annoyed. Annoyed of being contradicted? Perhaps, but he also seemed slightly impatient. Impatient for what? Luz truly didn't have any idea.

"Mind you, these are not my words," she said, "these studies have been published in journals and bulletins of several Faculties of medicine, including _Ciudad de Mexico_'s. Well... this last study dealt specifically with snakebites, but I guess it can also apply to scorpion stings..."

Throughout the senorita's monologue, Diego had been speechless. He was asking for a testimony to get his son out of jail, he hadn't expected a lecture on Mexico's latest medical publications given by some young woman he didn't even know...

But now was not the time to discuss medico-scientific theories.

"Anyway," he told her, "the boy in question cut through the sting..."

He was beginning to get tired of having to constantly steer the conversation back on track.

"Yes," she confirmed. "I tried to stop him, of course, first by trying to explain that he should not do that, then by struggling and thrashing around to try and get free of his grasp, but he was stronger than I was, especially considering that I was hurt... After that..."

She paused.

"After that he got started on my shoulder," she explained, wincing. "At the time... at the time here again I struggled, I didn't want anyone to touch me there, you see it was hurting so badly! Even though I now know that he only wanted to help, I think that back then I didn't even realise I had dislocated it when I fell. It's only when I felt it get back into its socket that I realised... Heavens, how painful it is!"

She winced again. So did Diego.

"It was as if... as if someone thrust a white-hot knife in my shoulder, and kept moving the blade inside the joint. And then... then..."

"Then...?" Diego repeated.

He was holding his breath: up to this point her testimony was going in the right direction, but any word from her, any misinterpretation of Felipe's intentions or actions could backfire on the young man.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Señorita Alacen thought hard, racked her mind, but the strange feeling of the head of her humerus going back in place, the sudden understanding of what had happened to her shoulder and above all the intense, burning pain seemed to be the last things her memory had recorded.

_Then?_ the man sitting at her bedside had asked. _Then?_ she repeated inwardly.

"Well... nothing," she finally answered. "That's it. Nothing else. Nothing more."

_The pain_, Diego thought. The sharp pain combined with venom and above all with the blow to the head had finally made her faint. And then blood loss, venom, infection and fever did the rest and had kept her unconscious.

"Nothing more?" Diego repeated.

"No, sorry, nothing more after that. Why…?"

Not answering her question right away, Diego insisted:

"So the young man made no attempt to… to harm you on purpose, but only intended to give you assistance, is that right?"

Quite puzzled, Luz looked at him, wondering what he was trying to get at.

"Yes, he meant well," she answered. "Regardless of the outcome..." she added, staring at her still uncovered reddish and lacerated thigh.

Seemingly finally realising the incongruity and lack of decency of the situation, she pulled the blankets back up over her legs.

But anyway Diego hadn't been paying attention to it anymore for quite some time. He had other things on his mind.

"This young man, Señorita, is called Felipe. He's my son," he revealed at last, "and now he's in dire need of your help."

"Your son?!" Luz exclaimed wide-eyed, interrupting again. "Good Heavens," she added, scrutinising Diego from head to toe, "exactly how old are you?"

_Oh,_ Diego thought. _Yes, I suppose I'll have to get used to that reaction, coming from strangers to this pueblo..._

"This is an adoption," he explained, a bit annoyed at having to justify himself.

Not that it was any of her business, but on the other hand he understood the woman's stupefaction. It was legitimate. And in a sense, he felt quite relieved to see that despite his first – and discreet – white hairs, he could still pass as rather 'young'... or pretty much so... He just hoped that Victoria shared this opinion.

"Ah," señorita Alacen simply answered in the same tone of voice as when he informed that Felipe was a deaf-mute.

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Above all, Luz loved to understand. She never felt so annoyed than when she was facing something, a situation, a problem, a phenomenon she didn't understand. Señor de la Vega's explanation perfectly cleared up the puzzlement and question mark that had lit in her mind when he told her that the young man who had appeared to be what... maybe just ten or fifteen years younger than he was himself... was in fact his son. Granted she had to admit that she had paid little attention to the young man's – _Felipe_, right? – appearance, let alone to his features, and also that she was now not seeing much of Señor de la Vega's since he was sitting with his back to the light...

Well, their family stories didn't matter, after all. Anyway, didn't he just tell her that the young man needed her help?

"I don't really know how I can be helpful to your son, Señor, however if it is in my power to be of assistance to you both, I can't imagine that I'd shirk it. Be assured that I only wish to be of help to my neighbour. Within the realms of my possibilities, of course."

But Señor de la Vega kept silent – as if he'd gone mute too, she thought out of the blue. She chastised herself for this unspoken comment and swept this rather unkind and disrespectful remark away from her mind. She then incited him to explain what he expected from her:

"What can I do for you then, Señor, or rather for him?"

That was one more thing she'd like to understand, since she didn't see at all what this young man could need her for.

Señor de la Vega appeared to actually have something to tell her, but at the same time he seemed quite reluctant to do so. Luz didn't understand this apparent reluctance either, even to the point of vaguely beginning to worry.

"So," the man went on, "the shouts, calls and pleas you aimed at Felipe, unaware as you were that he was deaf, had the only purpose to prevent him from carrying out the first aid gestures he was trying to perform on you?"

"That's exactly that," she confirmed, still a bit lost and wondering what the hell he was trying to get at. "At first, because I knew what he meant to do with his knife, and I maintain that this is not the appropriate treatment…"

He seemed to hold back and keep to himself a reply he was certainly itching to shoot back at her, probably realising that this was not the time to argue over this particular point.

"And next," she went on, "because I was dreading the pain I'd feel if he touched my arm. I fought him instead of letting him set my shoulder back in place, which ultimately only made things more complicated for him and even more painful to me, come to think of it... But how... how can you know I screamed and pleaded?"

Still with some reluctance, he explained:

"Señorita, a military patrol was passing by not far from there at the same time. These soldiers brought you the pueblo after…"

Oh no, now he stopped short again!

"Well," she said as if to fill the awkward silence, "I'll therefore thank them in person as soon as I can. In the meantime, would you please convey my thanks to them?"

He nodded absentmindedly. He had something else in mind. Something else to say, obviously, and his hesitation was beginning to seriously worry Luz.

"Actually, you may have a chance to do it yourself this morning, or so I hope, if ever you're able to get up so soon after coming round. Otherwise I will ask the alcalde to come here himself, or to send his sergeant to speak with you..."

_The alcalde?_ she wondered, in utter amazement.

"But what on earth about, exactly?" she asked a bit too sharply. She was beginning to get rather worked up by his tiptoeing around. "Will you eventually tell me what you _daren't_ tell me?"

He stood up suddenly. _Dios,_ he was tall! Especially since she herself was sitting, leaning back on her pillows.

It looked like he'd finally decided to talk, and in a both firm but soft voice, he told her:

"Señorita, I beg you to forgive the hesitancy I've been having so far as well as the trouble I have to address the topic I'm about to broach, but... well, please forgive me in advance for daring to address such a topic with a lady… and I confess I don't really know how to do so with the required delicacy that such a subject calls for..."

"Golly!" she exclaimed with a smile in an attempt to lighten the mood, "this time you're really beginning to worry me!"

But he seemed to remain perfectly impervious to her irony, and she suddenly feared that this interruption did nothing but stop him in his tracks.

"The soldiers... heard your screams... and also what you told Felipe… pleading with him not to touch you... and when they saw you, you were already lying unconscious... And Felipe was pinning your shoulder down..."

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Diego had stopped and was staring at her intensely, waiting for her to understand what he wasn't saying. Yet it didn't seem to happen and he knew he had to go on:

"And since your... um... your clothes were hitched up over your uncovered legs... well, because of the sting of course, but...

Again he looked at her. She still seemed as confused as before.

"Well?" she asked, apparently still in the dark as to what exactly he was trying to get at.

_Goodness gracious!_ Diego thought quite dismayed, was she possibly that naive and ingenuous? Suddenly, Diego felt terrified of maybe having to explain certain things to a young señorita. Things that were absolutely not his to explain. Having _this_ conversation with Felipe all those years ago had already been... well, awkward and embarrassing enough…

But just thinking of having to have _it_ with a young lady...

Maybe he should call on Victoria for help?

_Coward!_ he then called himself. No way! He really did not want that on top of everything else his ladylove could take him for some prudish and blushing maiden.

So rather than seeking refuge in Victoria's pocket and tying himself to her apron strings, he took a deep breath to work up the courage, and began:

"Well... appearances were very deceptive at the time… to outsiders and... and... they could suggest that… give the impression that… that Felipe's intentions... that he was trying to force himsel–"

"WHAT?!"

She sat bolt upright in her bed, the hem of the blanket crumpled in her clenched fists.

"No! NO!" she exclaimed. "Not at all! Señor, I assure you that your son has made absolutely no attempt of that sort!"

Diego couldn't suppress a sigh of relief at the idea that after all, señorita Alacen knew exactly what there was to know about what he had been trying to hint at since the beginning of his very embarrassed explanation, and that he therefore wouldn't have to explain anything to her with regard to that particular matter.

Señorita Alacen, for her part, apparently mistook the reason for his sigh.

"I assure you, Señor, that your son's behaviour towards me remained most honourable," she said hastily, "and that apart from this incident with the knife which is just a regrettable misjudgement–"

"I know, Señorita," Diego interrupted, "I never doubted Felipe. But I thank you for defending him against these accusations with so much... vigour. This is indeed precisely what he needs you for."

She raised her eyebrows at him quizzically.

"As I said," he went on, "the soldiers don't exactly have the same faith in him and they have mistaken the scene they happened to witness. My son has been put in jail, locked in a cell, and is suspected of these serious wrongdoings. I beg you, Señorita, just a few words from you would clear up this misunderstanding as soon as possible, and then we could all finally put this unfortunate incident behind u–"

He had not even finished his sentence when señorita Alacen sprung to her feet and, still barefoot, reached the door. In doing so she discovered that she was limping due to her right leg, but that did certainly not stop her in her tracks: she leaned against the wall with her right hand and opened the door to the inside passageway overlooking the main room of the tavern, while asking Diego:

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

Meanwhile, she didn't seem to notice at all that she was wearing nothing more than a thin white nightshirt, and one that was too short for her at that!


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Victoria was polishing her counter, making the most of the fact that it was still early and there were few consumers in the tavern yet. She was far better rested than the day before and in a better mood – to the great relief of the few customers present – thanks to Don Diego who had taken the night-watch at the stranger's bedside, allowing Victoria to sleep like a log.

At some point in the quietness of the early morning, the sound of a door and footfall could be heard upstairs and Victoria looked up the stairs. Up there she discovered an unusual sight, especially for an establishment as respectable as hers: a woman wearing nothing but a mere nightshirt, her long hair down and tangled, was walking barefoot and apparently hobbling to the top of the staircase, leaning with her hands on the wooden guardrail that overlooked the ground floor.

Victoria barely had time to recognise Don Diego's stranger – how so, _Don Diego's?_ she corrected herself – before the woman reached the stairs; her right leg then seemed to give way and she half-collapsed before she caught hold of the banister with both hands, wincing. In three strides Diego ran to her and caught her, sliding his arm around her waist to lift her up and thereby pressing her more than lightly against his own chest.

"For Heaven's sake!" he exclaimed, "don't try to walk alone! You should have waited for my help. I don't want you to overestimate your strength!"

_Awake!_ Victoria thought, relieved at first for Felipe – and for this woman too. Only... only seeing her half naked and wandering her tavern's corridors dimmed her joy somewhat. And in the presence of a man, at that! Admittedly, it was only Diego, the last man on earth who might take an interest in... well… but still! And her establishment had a reputation and standards to preserve.

Anyway, this notwithstanding, she was mainly relieved to see that the woman had regained consciousness and that her life was no longer at stake. The good care provided first by herself, then by Don Diego, had paid off... even if nature and luck certainly had also their share in this recovery. Admittedly, Don Diego's knowledge, even though it didn't equal of course Dr. Hernandez's, had certainly played its part here. This girl could be grateful to him. Truth be told, out of concern for Felipe he had spared no effort either to nurse her back to health, spending most of the past day – and _night_, too! – looking after and watching over her.

The stranger, for her part, had still not fully straightened back up and was still partly leaning on Diego's chest.

"Don't even try to go down these stairs on your own!" he then ordered her.

Victoria saw her nip her parched lips, hiss a bit and finally try to unglue herself from Diego.

"I'm not totall–" she began, looking a little annoyed and setting her right foot down on the first step.

But when her weight went from her left leg to the other one she winced again, screwing up her eyes, holding the banister with both hands so tight that her knuckles went white, inhaling sharply through her flared nostrils.

Not thinking twice and without further ado, Diego slid one arm under her knees, the other over her shoulder blades, and lifted her before she collapsed. Then, carrying her like a child to be put to bed, he began to go down the stairs as if she weighed nothing.

Although it was already spotless, Victoria then resumed polishing her counter with greater intensity: Don Diego was definitely enjoying far too much playing nurse...

In Diego's arms, with her legs raised and left exposed by Victoria's too short nightshirt that came down only to her mid-calf, the girl unwillingly displayed much of her legs to anyone who could see. Thank God, only Victoria was facing the stairs at the time. Diego, for his part, did not even seem to note the incongruity of this situation.

Once downstairs, he put the girl down; still limping, she slowly headed to the front door without looking back to him. Victoria then rushed to her:

"Señorita, you're awake, finally! How are you feeling?" she asked, taking her hands in her own.

The young woman, a bit dazed, looked at her but didn't seem to react.

"Are you sure you're in a fit state to walk?" Victoria went on. "Don Diego," she added, turning to her friend, "you shouldn't have let her get up... Señorita, but… but where are you going to?"

The young woman, looking stunned by this avalanche of questions, couldn't answer and turned to her good Samaritan, a both puzzled and inquiring look painted all over her face.

"Señorita, allow me to introduce Señorita Escalante. She owns and runs this tavern, and she too watched over you while you were unconscious, hence her concern for you. Victoria, let me introduce our guest, Señorita Luz Alacen."

Señorita Alacen politely bowed her head and shoulders, and was even about to give a hint of a curtsey when the effort it asked her thigh intensified the pain she was feeling there, and it sharply reminded her of her injury.

Victoria nodded as well and added:

"Welcome to Los Ángeles, Señorita. In spite of the rather… chaotic… circumstances of your arrival here."

"Thank you for your welcome, Señorita," Luz replied, "and for taking care of me. I'm sorry for any inconvenience the peculiar circumstances of my presence in your tavern may have caused."

"All's well that ends well, that's the main thing," Victoria assured her.

"Not quite, yet," Diego cut in, reminding them that Felipe's situation wasn't completely sorted out yet.

"Yes you're right," Señorita Alacen told him, "let's go."

"Where..." Victoria began, "where do you think you're going like that?"

With a general gesture, she illustrated her point by indicating her guest's state of dress.

"There's no time to loose," the señorita replied, "Señor de la Vega's son is wrongfully imprisoned as a consequence of a terrible misapprehension. I have to clear up this misunderstanding with the authorities as soon as possible!"

Meanwhile, Don Diego seemed to finally realise that the young woman was wearing nothing else than Victoria's nightshirt, since he immediately took off his own jacket to chivalrously wrap it around the señorita's shoulders, for the sake of modesty and propriety.

_Mmm_, Victoria couldn't help but note with narrowing eyes, Don Diego was being _very_ gallant today... But the result was still only remotely seemly...

"And you're barefoot!" Victoria then added.

Diego looked downwards and saw that he had failed to notice that other detail.

"I'm taking care of it!" he said, leaping up the stairs two by two to the bedroom he had just left.

Meanwhile, Victoria took things in hand:

"Take at least some time to get changed, Señorita, I'm sure Felipe won't hold it against you..."

But señorita Alacen was unable to stay put:

"Señorita, I will _not_ let an innocent young man rot in jail one more minute. Not if I can help it! I couldn't look at myself in a mirror if I put the concern for primping myself before his release and-"

"Well, that's not what I meant, Señorita!" Victoria exclaimed. "But you can't cross the plaza in a nightshirt! It's not very proper."

"Oh..." simply said Señorita Alacen who appeared to notice only then that she was… well… rather scantily clad.

They both saw Diego come downstairs holding the señorita's dusty shoes in his hands. She then shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly and, slipping her feet into her shoes while tightening Diego's jacket around her chest, she told Victoria:

"Never mind, no time..."

"Let me at least..." Victoria started before pausing to untie her apron.

She tied it around Señorita Alacen's waist. It was only barely more seemly. She then grabbed a large shawl behind the counter and tied it too around the woman's waist, this time hiding the back of her nightshirt. Well, now the result was a little better.

"Fine, thank you," Señorita Alacen hastily said turning round and walking away. "Cm'on, let's go!" she added for Diego as she headed for the door, leaning on the tables with her hands along the way in order not to put too much of her weight on her right leg.

Diego caught up with her and, rather than just offering her his left arm so that she could lean on it, he slid it around her waist as he took her right arm to raise it behind his neck and over his shoulder. And so, her pressed against him, him holding her waist, Victoria saw them leave her tavern.

Felipe's predicament was about to be sorted out and to have a happy ending, so she should feel elated. And she _was_, she reflected, she truly was. She really felt relieved for him, relieved for Don Diego. And yet for some unknown reason, she also felt far less relaxed and not really in as good a mood as a few minutes before. Weird.

Without fully realising it, lost as she was in these reflexions, she had resumed rubbing her already immaculate counter with renewed vigour, at the risk of wearing a hole in it…


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Ignacio de Soto was filling in some tedious paperwork regarding the charges against that damn deaf-and-dumb boy – pushing pencils in three or four copies, not the most exciting part of his function, he sighed inwardly – when Don Diego just barged into his office bellowing something about the boy. And without even knocking, at that!

To make his disapproval of such manners known of him, de Soto did not even raise his head from his papers.

"Don Diego," he interrupted as he dipped his pen in the inkwell not looking up from his page, "I have much to do… I know that's a notion that's totally unfamiliar to you, but I therefore suggest that you should come back later. We can set up an appointment if you–"

"Señor Alcalde," then interrupted a female voice he didn't recognise, "I am well aware that you must be a very busy man but I beg you to hear me out."

Startled, Ignacio Soto finally looked up and the sight he discovered only accentuated his initial surprise. There, before him, stood a woman indeed, but she was in an attire rather... motley, to say the least... unusual... and which Ignacio was not quite sure it was entirely decent.

Just imagine: a man's suit jacket far too large for her – undoubtedly Don Diego's! – which sleeves she had not even slipped on but that she was keeping tightly wrapped around her chest, a white apron and a patterned shawl tied around her waist! Besides, underneath it all, she did not seem to wear any real clothes, but just... just a mere long shirt! Hum, not that long, he noticed as he stood up to greet the newcomer – he might be alcalde and very busy, he nonetheless made a point to be courteous to ladies of apparently quality, even dressed like a scarecrow! Her nightshirt didn't even come down to her ankles and Ignacio's eyes unintentionally paused on these bits of naked calves displayed to his sight.

He quickly snapped out of it and of his initial surprise, only to have it replaced by an equally shocking second one: _my, my…_ Don Diego seemed to be doing pretty well for himself, the little sneak, the sly little fox! De Soto would never have thought that he had it in him… but de la Vega had apparently been playing his cards close to his chest! And what's more, she was obviously rather young to boot... and was clinging to him for dear life!

_But no,_ the alcalde thought immediately, Don Diego certainly didn't barge in his office without even knocking in the sole haste to gloat about his latest – and perhaps one and only – conquest, and not even dressed again at that! The poor sod was certainly pretty pathetic albeit rather annoying, yet not _that_ pathetic! The mere idea was preposterous.

"Señor Alcalde," the young woman went on, "I've come here as soon as possible in order to dispel a horrendous misunderstanding and to end a terrible injustice."

"What do you mean, Señora? Señora...? Señorita...?"

"Alacen," she completed. "Luz Alacen, at your service, Señor Alcalde."

"Señora, I am your humble servant. Ignacio Soto, alcalde of the pueblo de Los Ángeles," he introduced himself in an impeccable salute before bowing and leaning forward to kiss her hand.

There was in the way this young woman was speaking something that sweetly sounded of Spain, like a reminiscence of the Motherland. _Aaaah, Spain!_ de Soto sighed inwardly. He was delighted to find in her, in her words as well as in her intonations, the purest Castilian he'd heard in a very long time in these remote colonies of the New World, except for himself and for the diction Don Diego had brought back from his years in Madrid.

During this exchange of courtesies, Diego had been tapping his feet on the ground, champing at the bit. Seeing this the young woman, who had broken away from him, told de Soto:

"Señor Alcalde, the young man who is being held in your gaols..."

She paused for a short while, which was enough for de Soto to figure out exactly _who_ this woman was.

"He didn't..." she went on, "he is... I assure you that he never intended to do me any harm. He didn't assault me, Señor Alcalde, all this is nothing but a terrible misapprehension, I swear."

Ignacio then threw a very suspicious glance at de la Vega. Then, slowly, he looked back at the señora or señorita – she hadn't specified anything about this point, he remembered – and said:

"I am immensely relieved, _Señora_, to see that you are feeling much better and are finally out of danger. However, I'd like to be sure that your condition allows you to–"

"Rest assured, Señor Alcalde, I feel perfectly fine," she lied, "and my memories of what happened right before I f-... uh... I... passed out came back to my mind intact and unaltered. This young man..."

She then turned to de la Vega.

"_Felipe_, right?"

Don Diego nodded.

"Well," she then said, "Señor de la Vega's son has had no inappropriate gesture toward me nor did he try to… to attack me. He just wanted to help me, and then everything unfolded horribly wrong and the next moment your soldiers arrived and misread the situation. Not that I hold it against them, if anything it is entirely to their credit as soldiers and decent men that they came to my rescue in the situation they believed they were facing."

Ignacio had listened to the young woman without interrupting, only barely repressing a disdainful pout when she mentioned de la Vega's '_son'_. Apparently Don Diego had not been completely honest with her about the boy, and notably he failed to tell her that he was just some mere servant whom he had taken an unreasonable liking to.

The alcalde therefore looked at Diego more suspiciously than ever. And some parts of a sordid puzzle began to assemble in Ignacio de Soto's mind.

The lady's attire... the way Diego had been holding her pressed to his him just a minute earlier... his jacket wrapped around this woman... de la Vega's haste to have her speak to the alcalde... Sepulveda having to go back to the garrison the night before and therefore leaving them one to one, together...

_Well well!_ de Soto thought, Don Diego seemed to have infringed his apparent vow of celibacy and had probably scarified himself a bit to secure a testimony that would be favourable to his deaf-mute, thinking that if he seduced and satisfied the lady she would be willing to say whatever he wanted her to... unless, taking advantage that her mind was just emerging from the coma and was still easily influenced, he hoped she would believe the version of the facts a considerate lover would suggest to her clouded memory, and then repeat it.

Not that de Soto had ever before imagined that de la Vega could be able to fully satisfy the ladies, especially considering his lack of... well, _energy_, to begin with, but also of known… _achievement_ under his belt in this area – _quite literally_, indeed! At least for what the Los Angelinos were aware of… But after all, the poor boy had to have at least one or two hidden talents in life and couldn't be worthless at absolutely everything... And yes, for his deaf-mute Don Diego was certainly ready to exceptionally make a bit of a personal effort and to… well, to _lay_ himself on the line, so to speak. The line of duty.

Not that it must have been very displeasing to him, by the way... there were indeed much more unpleasant duties! Admittedly, the lady certainly wasn't the most beautiful woman in Alta California, but all the same she wasn't downright repulsive either; and according to what her rather... well... _light_... attire left to imagination, she didn't look too badly shaped either, quite the opposite!

_Oh __God gracious!_ Ignacio quickly snapped out of it. He had just caught himself undressing with his eyes a witness he had to interrogate. Damn de la Vega, this was entirely his fault! While focusing on the señora or señorita's face – and her face _only_ – he told her:

"All right, I'm all ears: tell me what happened then, according to you."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

And she told the tale. The fall, her screams, her shoulder, the pain, the scorpion, the knife, in short, for the second time in less than a quarter of an hour she recounted the same story.

De Soto listened without interrupting, looking at her seriously, occasionally casting a glance at Diego.

On second thought, he noticed her Castilian sometimes seemed tinged with something a bit more... slightly... well not exactly _foreign_, but less Madrilean than he had thought at first. Here and there a word... a pronunciation... vaguely reminded him of something else. But whatever it was, it was still related to his years in Spain, he could swear it.

"In a nutshell," she concluded her account, "all this young man can be blamed for is a poor judgment and the lack of the most fundamental caution. He's only been too rash and too self-confident; too sure of himself, of his abilities and of what he had been taught," she then said, throwing a sideways glance at Diego which did not escape the latter's notice.

Which did not escape de Soto's either, incidentally, who told her:

"Señora Alacen, please be sure that I'm more than willing to believe you, yet I can't help but wonder about... let's say about the clarity of your memories. You have, after all, lost consciousness and even been delirious in your sleep, I'm therefore afraid that the details and information Don Diego has certainly not failed to give you – with the sole concern to reassure you about your situation and your condition, I'm sure of it – might have… overlaid... your real memories of–"

"I'm not easily influenced, Señor," she cut him rather coldly.

"Ignacio..." Don Diego growled under his breath.

De Soto then changed tactics, trying a more frontal approach, although it displeased him to attack the first person in a very long time who had brought him a breeze of this Spain that he missed so dearly:

"Let's grant that's the case, Señora... But then... then I cannot help but notice that the suspect's... uh... _father_ remained alone with you for a while... and without any witness to what can have been said during all that time..."

He left his sentence unfinished, leaving the ellipsis float very heavily in the air, full of innuendos.

He saw señora Alacen's face transform, from worried it became outraged. Speechless, breathless and wide-eyed she took a step back and then, with flared nostrils, a hard look and clenched jaws she shouted indignantly:

"Are you accusing me of bearing false witness?"

"Ignacio," de la Vega cut in, "you really go for any length to–"

But Soto was not listening. He had to admit he wasn't too proud of himself. The case, that just the day before he thought was solid and held water, was now deflating clue after clue, testimony after testimony. He tried to play his last card:

"But if one also takes into account the de la Vega's substantial wealth..."

While Don Diego clenched his fists out of the rage caused by that outrageous accusation, the woman exploded:

"I'm not for sale, sir, and neither is my word!"

Under the effect of effort and emotion, she staggered and swayed slightly, and leaned one hand against the wall for support. De Soto and Don Diego immediately rushed to her, but before they even had time to offer her their assistance she straightened up to her full height, stiff and proud.

"I'm alright," she assured, "I'm alright, I can perfectly..."

She didn't say exactly _what_ she could, but the general idea was clear enough: _I can__ very well keep going by myself, I don't need you anymore, thank you very much. _

Anyway, this short interlude changed de Soto's original idea as to the kind of... _nightly activities_... he had suspected Don Diego had shared with her: she was obviously not fit enough for anything of that sort yet. And then... and then the more he listened to her, the more he believed that woman. In spite of himself.

De Soto thought hard. A miscarriage of justice towards the de la Vega – even only through some flunkey – would not be good for his career. _If this was indeed__ a miscarriage of justice, _an insidious little voice whispered inside his head. He sighed:

"Would you be willing to sign a written statement that would repeat exactly and point by point the story you just told me?"

"I'm even ready to write it myself and right now, if this can get this poor young man out of jail as soon as possible. He is innocent of what he is accused of, I swear!"

While saying that, she reached for the quill and the inkwell. At the same time, a very loud rumbling could be heard, and she suspended her gesture, blushing.

"_Madre__ de Dios__!_" Don Diego exclaimed, "but what was I thinking? You must be starving after all this time!"

She lowered her head a little, grudgingly admitting:

"Well, truth be told, I wouldn't say no to a bowl of soup with a few slices of ham. Or some chicken," she added, regaining some colours at this idea. "Although… a nice rare grilled rib steak, instead..." she then said, salivating in anticipation.

"Ah, I very much doubt Señorita Escalante has put any of this on today's menu, I'm sorry," Ignacio told her.

"Really?" the stranger wondered. "How is it that...? Yet… yet it's indeed an inn she's running!

"It is, Señora, indeed it is," de Soto said, "only... today is Friday..."

"Not at all!" the young woman replied. "Today is Wednesday!"

_What? _Ignacio wondered. _Could it be__ that de la Vega failed to..._

He hadn't finished his thought when Don Diego told his new protégée:

"No, Señorita, the alcalde is right: today is indeed Friday."

"No! she insisted. No, today is Wednesday."

De Soto took it upon himself to explain to her what de la Vega had obviously failed to tell her:

"Señora, you've remained unconscious for almost two whole days..."

"TWO DAYS!" she exclaimed, leaning back against the wall. "No, that's impossible, I'm sure I would be aware of it if..."

"Señorita," Don Diego then told her, "I assure you that today is indeed Friday and that you have remained unconscious for two days, with fits of delirium and high fever. We were very worried about you."

The young woman shook her head in disbelief.

"No," she said, as if to herself. "No, you are mistaken. Or… or for some reason I don't understand, you're trying to pull some nasty prank on me, to make me believe that... that…"

"It certainly wouldn't be a first from Señor de la Vega, that's his usual trick. This wouldn't be unheard from him, would it?" de Soto then said, perfectly remembering the dirty trick Don Diego had played on him a few years ago by making him believe he had been sick for several days, when he had actually slept only a few hours.

De Soto threw a meaningful look toward Don Diego who just shrugged. Meanwhile the young woman, who certainly didn't understand anything about this exchange of innuendos, seemed to be slowly accepting the reality of what they both asserted.

Suddenly she became very agitated:

"But then..." she said, aghast, "then... Oh my God! You mean that this young man has been in jail for two whole days! Oh _Dios__!_ But… how awful!"

She became even more agitated as de Soto and Don Diego tried to appease her. Meanwhile, Ignacio noticed that this little something in her language he had previously perceived was more pronounced when she was distressed.

"Two days!" she repeated. "Oh dear, the poor boy! Señor Alcalde, we have to get him out of there as soon as possible, you must..."

She paused. Ignacio saw her raise a hand to her forehead, stagger and then slightly collapse. De Soto and Don Diego both rushed to catch her in time and sat her on a chair. _Catalan!_ Ignacio suddenly realised. Her Castilian was tinged with a very light hint of Catalan...

"Señora..." Ignacio called her, "Señora! Are you feeling alright?"

"She's right, Ignacio," Diego said, "you can't let Felipe–"

"First things first, de la Vega!" de Soto hissed. "Can't you see she's having a relapse?"

"Don't even think I'll forget to remind you–"

"All right, all right, Diego! We'll release your deaf-mute, don't worry! Only, I'll have you know that since people are not condemned as quickly as before, well, believe it or not they cannot be released with just a snap of the fingers either! There will be even more documents to write and forms to fill in for this!"

De Soto, despite his relative defeat, was lapping it up: it was still very enjoyable to turn the tables on Diego, to turn de la Vega's own arguments against him and have them backfire on him!

"For now the most pressing matter is to take care of your... your new _friend_, Diego. Bring her back to Señorita Escalante's tavern."

Reluctantly, Don Diego nodded and helped the young lady to her feet. But as she wasn't standing strongly enough on her legs anymore, he scooped her up in his arms once again. As he was crossing the threshold, de Soto called out to him:

"Diego! You... you'll let me know how Señora Alacen is doing, will you?"


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Madre_ _de Dios__,_ he was at it again!

Victoria couldn't help this silent but slightly irritated thought when she saw Don Diego enter her tavern carrying señorita Alacen in his arms.

Again.

_Honestly!_ _It was really getting to be a habit with him! _Anyway, he seemed to be developing a taste for it.

Victoria immediately chastised herself for these decidedly hardly charitable thoughts: if Don Diego was carrying this young woman, something bad certainly had happened…

_My God__,_ Victoria thought, angry at herself for her initial fit of temper, _had she fainted__ again? Or... or worse?_

Worried, she rushed to the woman.

"Don Diego," she asked, "what's wrong? Is she...? What's...? What happened to her? How is she?"

Swamped with the torrent of her questions, Diego didn't immediately answer. Then, noticing Victoria's growing anxiety, especially faced with his silence, Señorita Alacen herself reassured her, although in a feeble voice:

"I'm fine, Señorita, everything's all right, don't worry. Señor," she added for Diego's benefit, "you can put me down now, I assure you."

"You had a dizzy spell, you've just woken from two days of fever and unconsciousness, and all this on an empty stomach on top of things."

"I'm feeling better, you can put me down."

"You need to rest now," he objected.

"And I'm going back to bed straightaway, I promise," she replied. "Or at least I will as soon as you put me down. Please," she added in a gentler voice.

"Yes Don Diego," Victoria cut in rather sharply, "you may put the señorita down, now."

"I won't put her down anywhere but in bed!" he stated flatly.

"Oh! Alright, alright, make it quick, then" Luz told him, "we're being looked at!"

She finally seemed to take the full measure of things, of appearances, of her attire, of the fact that she was in a man's arms – and a mere stranger's at that – and of the way this situation could look to third parties.

Victoria, as for her, had already taken it a long time ago:

"She's right, Don Diego, my tavern is a very correct house of good repute and I intend it to remain so! Therefore I'd rather you put Señorita Alacen in bed as soon as possible and you come back downstairs immediately, or else I'll go upstairs to get you myself!"

Seeing that Diego was finally beginning to slowly realise what she was implying, she confirmed:

"Otherwise you might set tongues wagging and get yourself talked about..."

Wordlessly, Diego gave a slow nod and began to climb the stairs, señorita Alacen still nested in his arms. Halfway up, he stopped and turned back to Victoria to ask her:

"Victoria! Would you please be kind enough to take a bowl of broth and a plate of whatever the daily special is up to señorita Alacen?"

"The fish stew isn't ready yet, Don Diego, but as soon as it is, I will!"

Luz's head then emerged from Diego's shoulder and in a somewhat feeble voice she told her:

"Thank you very much, Señorita. And please believe that I'm sorry about the inconvenience and trouble all this is making for you and your business."

"Don't mention it, Senorita!" Victoria replied. "The disturbance is not that big, I assure you. Your only concern right now should be about getting some rest and recovering, don't worry about anything else."

Diego had barely resumed climbing the stairs when Victoria suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, wait!" she called.

She grabbed something under her counter and walked over to them. Diego then saw that the something in question was a small bouquet of wild flowers, which she handed to Señorita Alacen.

"Here," she told her, "this is for you. You've just missed Corporal Sepulveda who came here just a few minutes ago to ask about your condition and give you this," she added with a knowing smile.

"Who?" Luz asked. "Who is he?"

"He's one of the soldiers who found you and brought you to the pueblo," Diego clarified for her, a bit annoyed for the delay in getting her to bed. "He's the one who brought you to the doctor's office."

"And he's also come several times while you were unconscious, keeping vigil at your bedside with either me or Don Diego," Victoria added.

"I think that, above all, he was mostly watching me on the alcalde's orders," Diego added, in a slightly irritated tone of voice, "to make sure I wouldn't… prompt Senorita Alacen, suggest her what to say when she finally wakes up."

"Oh you're being unfair, Don Diego! Victoria scolded him.

"Yes," Luz added, "the alcalde's initial wariness was after all rather legitimate, although rather hurtful at the time, and anyway he finally acknowledged my testimony as truthful!"

"No," Victoria said, "I meant toward Corporal Sepulveda! He seemed to be sincerely worried for you... it was even rather sweet, indeed."

"Charming," Diego said with the air of someone who didn't find it charming at all. "Perhaps we could postpone this chat?" he suggested in a slightly gruff tone of voice. "She really has to get some rest right now."

"Very well," Victoria replied, a bit miffed to see her nice enthusiasm dampened by Diego.

Luz took the bouquet, asking her:

"Señorita, once I am rested, I'd really like to bathe or at least wash a bit. Would it be possible to have then a large wash tub and some hot water taken up to my room?"

"Of course Señorita, and I'll come up to help you with it. With your wounded shoulder and leg, you will have some trouble to do it by yourself, as well as to get dressed."

"_Muchas gracias,_ Señorita, that's very kind of you. I'm very lucky, incidentally: ever since my arrival in this pueblo, I have met only nice people, obliging and compassionate, eager to help me: yourself Señorita, this Corporal Sepulveda, Señor de la Vega here, and even his son, who only wanted to help..."

"But you're forgetting the alcalde," Diego told her. "He's the exception."

"Don't be unfair," she replied. "I don't know what your quarrel with him is, but I have to admit that, after the initial suspicion he is bound to by his office, he was nothing but courteous and considerate."

"Believe me Señorita," Diego retorted, "you don't know Ignacio de Soto..."

"Don Diego is right, Señorita," Victoria said. "The alcalde is not a pleasant man, far from it. Wait until you really know him and judge him on his actions, you'll see... if you stay with us long enough for it, of course, but you'll certainly want to set off again as soon as you've recovered enough to do so.

"I have some business to attend to here in Los Angeles before I ride back," Luz said.

Strangely, Luz suddenly had the impression that, for some reason she couldn't understand, Señorita Escalante seemed somewhat quite eager to see the back of her as soon as possible.

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience my condition is causing to you, Señorita," she added a little chagrined by her hostess's suddenly cooler attitude, especially since the latter had been so charming thus far, "but I'm afraid I will have to outstay your welcome one more day. Of course I will pay each centavo of what I ow–"

"Anyway," Diego cut her, "right now you're not fit to ride, and won't be for several days at least. Neither is your horse, for that matter. But that's enough chat for now: I'm carrying you up to your room. Off to bed!"

And walking the talk, he resumed climbing the stairs, Victoria following him very closely, hot on his heels, tight-lipped.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

By the end of the afternoon, sitting under the tavern's porch, Don Alejandro was anxiously waiting for his son who had gone to the alcalde's office to inquire about Felipe's release.

He had just finished his pitcher of wine and ordered a second one when Victoria put before him a jug of what looked definitely not like wine.

"You're mistaken my dear, this is not my order..."

"I know Don Alejandro," she replied, "this is not your order, and no, I am not mistaken."

He slowly looked up at her, one eyebrow arched in silent questioning.

"Don Alejandro," she told him, "you wouldn't want for Felipe to find you tipsy, should he be released tonight..."

"Humph! 'cause you think de Soto will listen to Diego? I don't even know why I let him convince me not to go in there myself..."

"Perhaps to prevent you from taking Felipe's place behind bars?" she retorted tit for tat. "Especially after several pitchers of my excellent Rioja..."

"It's good, indeed," Don Alejandro conceded.

"It's good but it can knock you quickly if you're not careful. Beware, it's a bit treacherous..."

"Don't worry, I still know exactly what I'm doing."

"And it's precisely for you to keep on knowing what you're doing that I brought you this pitcher of barley water instead: it is just as refreshing and it keeps the head cool..."

Don Alejandro pursed his lips in a small disdainful pout.

"Pshaw!" he let out, "I'm no longer a kid, Victoria, I haven't been for a _very_ long time."

"I know this, it's not about that..."

Don Alejandro said nothing and glanced toward the other side of the _plaza_. Victoria knew well where his thoughts were aimed at. When he suddenly got up with the very clear intention of joining his son and support his words in his own way – the way of a true de la Vega, according to him, which certainly implied reaching to the hilt of his sword – Victoria held him back by grabbing his arm.

"Don Alejandro," she said, "for once I think Don Diego is right. Loosing your temper, lashing out at the alcalde and getting yourself locked up certainly won't plead Felipe's cause. I don't know if the alcalde will listen to Don Diego and release Felipe tonight, but I think he was convinced by señorita Alacen's testimony. According to what they both told me, anyway. So yes, I totally understand your frustration at not doing anything but sit here and wait, but although it feels weird for me to say this, for once let's trust Don Diego and follow his advice. And well, nothing too bad can happen to Felipe anymore, for now..."

Her little speech seemed to temporarily calm down Don Alejandro's fiery temper, who sat down slowly albeit obviously reluctantly.

"And have a taste of my barley water! Perhaps it doesn't match up to a nice little Malaga or Jerez, but I bet you'll like it anyway…"

z~z~z~z~z~z~z

Ten minutes later Victoria was busy serving patrons inside her tavern when she heard Don Diego's and Don Alejandro's voices coming from her porch. _Cheerful_ voices.

She was about to go there to see for herself what was happening when she saw them enter the tavern. Not two men, but three: Felipe was with them!

"And finally the mail had not left for Monterey yet," Don Diego was telling his father, "so he didn't have the excuse to have to wait for anything else to release Felipe."

His right arm was wrapped around the young man's shoulder, who was smiling at Don Alejandro, at Don Diego, at the angels and at the whole world. After two and a half days in jail he was a bit scruffy and unkempt, but the smile that was showing up to his eyes was very good to see.

He made a series of signs which she didn't understand, bar one: the one he used to refer to de Soto.

"Yes," Diego replied, "I think so too: he would surely have been legally able to release you as soon as this morning, but he did it on purpose. Oh, I'm sure it's not against you, _I_'m the one he doesn't like much... Yet I have never done anything to him, or so very little..."

After this last sentence, Victoria saw him slightly wink at Felipe, a wink which meaning she didn't quite catch. But Felipe's smile broadened: apparently _he_ understood... Probably one of those father-son private jokes nobody else could understand...

"Oh, well," she cut in, "I think the alcalde still resents you for José Riva's case..." she told Diego, reaching the three men. "You know, all this dust in his office, the fake stubble, the sleeping drug in his food..."

"Oh, that..." he answered with a shrug. "But you're probably right, he hinted at it once again no later than this morning when I went to see him with Senorita Alacen."

Victoria turned to Felipe, taking care to position herself right in front of him, her face clearly in his field of vision.

"I am relieved to know you're in the clear. It's a real joy to see you're free."

She dared not add that she had never doubted his innocence, because she was pretty sure it would have been a lie... And he might have not believed her, incidentally, according to the slightly troubled look he had thrown her just the day before when she had visited him in jail.

Yes, this friendship too would need a little mending.

Taking the first step and giving in to both her impulse and her joy at seeing the young man reunited with his loved ones, she hugged him and raised her head and reached up to lay an affectionate kiss on his cheek, despite the scratchy stubble he had grown in the last two days and a half, razor blades being quite unwelcome in jail.

He stiffened a bit but didn't back away and let her do, much to Victoria's relief.

"How enthusiastic!" Diego told Victoria with a crooked grin. "I don't remember you greeting me _that_ way after Ramone had me spend a night in jail for my articles in the _Guardian!_"

She looked at him, dumbfounded.

Uh... yeah, that might be true, she had probably not kissed him at this time... But anyway, that was not the same! _By the way,_ she wondered out of the blue, _how could it feel like, kissing Diego de la Vega's cheek?_ But she quickly shooed this rather unseemly thought out of her mind. Kissing Felipe… well, _that_ was not the same. It had come to her almost naturally, just like that, an impulse. Out of sheer friendship. Not that she wasn't friends with Diego too, far from it! Only… only here it was _Felipe_, and with Felipe things were just not the same as with Diego, full stop! It just couldn't be the same, period.

By the way, _why_, after all? She couldn't tell herself anymore it was because Felipe was just a kid, at nineteen years of age he could decently no longer be considered as such… So why?

And suddenly another thing she hadn't yet thought about came to her mind and covered her current questioning: Dear Lord, she wondered with a bit of alarm, had she just departed from decency by publicly throwing her arms around Felipe's neck and flying into his arms like that? Was it to throw the veil of humour and jest over this that Don Diego had gently joked about her sweet enthusiasm? To save _her_ day, to save _her_ face, to protect her good name and preserve her reputation as an honest woman? Or to discreetly remind her that Felipe was not really to be regarded as a child anymore?

Nevertheless... against her better judgment, Victoria was now curious to know what Diego de la Vega's cheek would feel like against her lips.

"Diego," Don Alejandro gently scolded his son, "don't tease Victoria!"

He then led his son and his grandson-to-be to a table where the three of them sat down.

"Come on," he said, "all this ordeal is over. Let's celebrate! Victoria, my dear, bring us a pitcher of your excellent Rioja, please."

Saying this, he threw a wink and a knowing smile in her direction. Victoria did her best to hide her amusement behind a fake disapproving frown. Don Alejandro smirked and Victoria finally smiled.

And after all, emptying a pitcher between the three of them to celebrate a happy event was really not the same as downing the same pitcher on one's own to alleviate one's anguish...

The other two seemed to notice this silent conversation – of course they did, she reflected, they were experts at talking without words! – but they didn't understand what could be so funny.

After all, Victoria reflected, since Diego and Felipe seemed to have their private jokes and little secrets, then Don Alejandro and herself could have theirs as well!


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Victoria smiled, casting a glance at the table occupied by the de la Vegas. They were quietly celebrating their reunion, briefly interrupted from time to time by either of the tavern's customers coming to them to express his joy at Felipe's release or even to assure that of course, never, never ever had he believed him guilty, not for a split second – easy to say now that all this was over! Victoria thought – and between the three of them they had gradually reached the bottom of the pitcher of Rioja.

It was soon dinnertime and the tavern was three-quarters full. After their day's work and before dinner, whether they planned to have at the tavern or at home, many patrons had come here to quench their thirst and knock back a few drinks.

Victoria was waltzing from one table to another, a tray in one hand and a bottle in the other, when she saw a woman go down the stairs. Hadn't she herself helped her to do her hair and get dressed one hour earlier, Victoria would have hardly recognised Señorita Alacen.

The sick woman with her hair down and matted with sweat, covered in dust, looking drawn and rigged out like a scarecrow had been replaced by a clean young woman with disciplined hairstyle, her head held high, dressed in a clean and entirely seemly outfit.

Only signs of what he had recently happened to her: she was limping heavily and was keeping her left arm unmoving by her side, almost stiff, to prevent the joint of her shoulder from moving.

Her right hand clutched the banister, and one could see very clearly that she was heavily leaning on it when the weight of her body shifted to her right leg.

Another detail Victoria noted: Señorita Alacen had put some flowers from the Corporal Sepulveda's bouquet in her surely still wet hair, planted in her bun. Without her admitting it to herself, this observation made her smile.

Another observation that had made smile a little less, however, was noticing while she was helping her wash and get dressed that Señorita Alacen was probably younger than she was herself. Her skin, the firmness of her shapes, the features of her face – even in spite of the fatigue, dark circles and tiny wrinkles due to her condition – and up to her hair devoid of any white thread, everything seemed to reflect back to Victoria the sparkle of a youth that had still been hers a few years earlier but was now already beginning to fade.

Seeing the now spotlessly groomed señorita come down the stairs, these likely few years less seemed really obvious. And if they were such in Victoria's eyes, then they would also be in other's...

Victoria quickly swept this thought away, and as if to better erase it she wiped her counter with a sponge. The approach of the thirties was perhaps making her a bit bitter , that's all. But it certainly wasn't Señorita Alacen's fault that Victoria had found one more gray hair this morning in front of her mirror, that her bust was no longer as well emphasised by her blouses or that Zorro was (dilly-)dallying and keeping her hanging about year in, year out to fulfil his promise of a life together for the two of them... and maybe more than two.

No, none of that was the señorita's fault, Victoria reasoned, not even the fact that Diego de la Vega had just got up from his table to come and meet her at the bottom of the staircase.

Victoria wrung her sponge out, squeezing, twisting it forcefully long after the last drop of water had been squished out.

Flashes of earlier, when she helped the young woman get washed, came back to her mind and she suddenly remembered an illustration of a two-centuries-old painting she had seen in a book at the de la Vegas'. A painting that was entitled something like _The toilet of Venus_, _Venus's bath_ or whatnot, she couldn't remember the exact name... But, much more to the point, she remembered very well having been utterly shocked at these pages and pages of naked or half-naked women on display. Of men too, come to think of that... Yes, she had been quite shocked at seeing that Don Diego owned books which contained pictures of naked women. But this was _art_, or so it seemed; from what he had told her then, anyway. Well, it might be art to some, yet she herself couldn't help but see first and foremost naked women in these.

Certainly not the kind of picture she would hang on the walls of her tavern, lest people be totally mistaken as to the nature of the business she was running!

The fact remained that Señorita Alacen, curvy, buxom and bordering chubby, with her broad hips, round thighs and fleshy buttocks, had reminded her of this Venus with rounded curves and generously proportioned shapes. Except that all these painters' women were blond and sometimes so pale-skinned that one might have believed them dead if not for some patches of rosy skin here and there.

Victoria could only welcome the fact that nightshirts were meant to be loose-fitting, otherwise she might have had some trouble slipping the one she had lent her onto the señorita... And to think that Don Diego had lifted and carried her in his arms – more than once! – as if she weighed no more than a feather! Victoria reflected that she had apparently underestimated his strength... But after all, even though he certainly wasn't the strongest of men, he was indeed a man all the same! Over time, gradually and by dint of seeing him do hardly anything but read, write and talk, she might have forgotten this...

And men were physically stronger than women, a fact she had to admit although it displeased her.

Another fact which she could do nothing about: men generally preferred women with generous shapes, rounded... cushiony... feminine curves, in a word. They often preferred that there be "matter to stroke"... to touch... to fondle… to feel... to embrace.

Perhaps... perhaps if she herself had been a bit more... substantial, perhaps then would she have managed to convince Zorro to share some more... _contact_ with her than a few furtive kisses, perhaps would he have let her convince him to stay longer than a few minutes blowing through her kitchen or her bedroom... perhaps would he even have let go enough to agree to let her untie this mask she was starting to hate with all her might?

Perhaps, despite her black knight's repeated assurances, was she not appealing enough in his eyes?

Well, not to the point of ever succeeding in driving him out of his mind anyway, she regretted with a hint of bitterness.

And it wouldn't get any better over time, she reflected. Hopefully, however, Zorro would finally make up his mind and dare to take that step before her posterior becomes completely flabby, her breasts reaches her navel, the skin of her face withers completely, her back becomes stooped and therefore she became even smaller than she already was, and above all before rheumatism seized them both!


End file.
